Darkest Before Dawn
by Marianna Morgan
Summary: Tag to 7x23 – Hurt Sam, Big Brother Dean...and a few surprises – "While it is possible you will live..." the Alpha Vamp explained to Sam. "It is also highly likely you will bleed out by the time Dean is brought back to this side."
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Tag to 7x23 – Hurt Sam, Big Brother Dean...and a few surprises – "While it is possible you will live..." the Alpha Vamp explained to Sam. "It is also highly likely you will bleed out by the time Dean is brought back to this side."

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Warnings**: spoilers for 7x23, language

**A/N**: Summer break begins in a few weeks and completing my works in progress will be my primary goal. But for now, I could not resist adding this story to the stack...

* * *

_If I could just see you, everything would be all right. If I'd see you, this darkness would turn to light. ~ Lifehouse_

* * *

"Twice in one week..." the Alpha Vamp remarked, shaking his head at the wonder – at the_ desperate stupidity_ – of it as he circled the would-be trespasser.

"We found him trying to sneak in the back, and – "

The Alpha Vamp held up his hand to silence further explanation from one of his children; easily bored with hearing information he already knew, had already deduced.

Because it was obvious from where they stood that Sam Winchester had been caught trying to slip through the garden's back gate; had been planning to enter the house through the back door instead of the front this time.

But what was not so easily known...

"Where is your brother?" the Alpha Vamp asked; his tone suspicious; his gaze flickering around the small alcove as if he expected to see the older hunter hiding in ambush.

Because experience had taught him that where one Winchester was, the other was undoubtedly close by.

Sam swallowed thickly, shifting in the grasp of the two vampires who held him on either side; their grip unyielding as their long fingernails dug into his arms in their own silent warning about what would happen to him if he tried to escape.

The Alpha Vamp stared at his captive standing in the middle of the small room and sighed in that way adults do when dealing with ill-mannered children.

"Sam..." the ancient vampire called, his deep voice echoing against the stone walls that surrounded them. "It is rude to ignore a directly asked question." A pause. "So, I will ask it again." Another pause. "Where is your brother?"

Sam swallowed once more. "He's..."

But that was all he could choke out.

Because while it had been two days since Dean had disappeared, Sam still felt like throwing up anytime he made the admission aloud.

The Alpha Vamp arched an intrigued eyebrow at Sam's continued silence, studying the expression on the young hunter's face; an expression of loss and grief; of shock and fatigue; of defeat and desperation – an expression that could only mean one thing.

"He's gone," the Alpha Vamp concluded regarding Dean's whereabouts and saw the confirmation flash in Sam's eyes. "Huh," he further mused, snorting at the unexpectedness of such news. "Interesting."

Sam clenched his jaw at the pleased indifference in the Alpha Vamp's tone and posture as the ancient vampire finally stopped circling him and stood in front of him; arms crossed over his suited chest.

"I suppose the Leviathan showdown did not go as planned, then..." the Alpha Vamp further inferred.

Sam said nothing.

The Alpha Vamp nodded; knowing he was right even without Sam's response. "So, if Dean is gone..." he began, speaking in that slow elegant way of his. "...then why are you here? To what do I owe this..." He waved his hand in the air, calling forth the proper word to hide his contempt. "...pleasure?"

Sam shifted between his two captors, feeling both vampires simultaneously tighten their grip around his arms. "I need your help," he confessed; his tone as broken as he felt.

The Alpha Vamp laughed; a humorless, mocking sound. "Hunters are like stray cats," he explained to his children on either side of Sam. "You feed them once...and then you can't get rid of them."

Sam glared, feeling his anger begin to rise.

Because he didn't have time for this shit; _Dean_ didn't have time for this shit.

If the Alpha Vamp wanted to make fun of him, fine. But he could do it _after_ they got Dean back.

"Please," Sam added to his request, hearing the hard edge in his voice.

The Alpha Vamp shook his head. "I am not in the habit of helping hunters, Sam," he reminded the youngest Winchester. "I gave you my blood to aid in destroying Dick Roman because the Leviathans were a pain in my ass. They were forgetting their place and were becoming more trouble than they were worth. Plus, I dislike working with those I cannot trust."

"Same here," Sam agreed, holding the ancient vampire's gaze.

The Alpha Vamp chuckled. "Then I will ask you again...why are you here? Because surely you know you cannot trust me and that this – whatever _this_ is – will not end well."

Sam sighed, feeling as shaky as his released breath sounded. "Because there's nobody else," he admitted, tears stinging his eyes at the truth of that statement.

Because Dean had been right – all of their friends were dead.

No Bobby or Rufus; no Ellen or Jo; no Ash or Frank or Pam; no Travis, no Caleb, no Pastor Jim.

There was only Sheriff Mills – who was a friend but not a hunter; and Garth, who was a hunter but not the kind Sam needed right now; and Charlie, who was neither a friend nor a hunter and had explicitly asked to be left alone.

There had only been two calls Sam had made over the past two days: Missouri Mosley – because he had needed the psychic's confirmation that he was headed in the right direction with his gut feeling; and Dean's voicemail – because he had needed to hear his big brother's voice.

Sam swallowed at the memory of Dean's familiar words in his ear; so close he could touch and yet so far away that he may never see him again.

Sam sighed, steeling himself against that possibility; because no matter what he had to do, he was going to see Dean again; was going to get his brother back.

The Alpha Vamp watched the young hunter standing mere inches away from him; strangely touched by Sam's obvious devotion to his brother; by a desperate man seeking desperate measures in desperate times.

The ancient vampire sighed, suspecting he would regret this; that a Winchester would be the death of him yet. "What do you want?" he asked, ever the gracious host. "My help to accomplish what?"

Sam's eyes widened slightly; surprised but encouraged by the Alpha Vamp's interest in his quest. "I want to open Purgatory."

The Alpha Vamp gave a startled laugh – deep and booming – and then abruptly stopped when he realized Sam was not joking. "Have you lost your mind?"

"More than once," Sam admitted and quirked a self-deprecating smile. "But not now. I know it sounds crazy, but – "

"It's suicidal," the Alpha Vamp corrected sharply. "Have you not already learned that nothing good can come from opening Purgatory's gates?"

Sam shrugged, because it didn't matter. "Dean's there," he stated simply, knowing that would be explanation enough.

And it was.

"I see," the Alpha Vamp responded after a beat of silence. "And you know this how?"

"I just do," Sam replied, once again shifting between the two vampires who continued to hold him in place. "When Dick died, he kind of...exploded. But I think he also created some kind of vacuum that sucked Dean and Cas out of this world and to wherever Dick ended up. And since most things return to where they came from when they die – "

"Then you assume Dick went back to Purgatory and thus that is where your brother is as well," the Alpha Vamp finished and nodded his appreciation of that logic. "But if he is not?"

Sam shook his head, refusing to entertain that possibility; remembering Missouri's confirmation that she felt him there as well.

"He's there," Sam stated confidently and held the Alpha Vamp's gaze.

"Fine," the ancient vampire allowed. "Let's say Dean _is_ there. That still does not explain why you need my help. Thanks to the arrogant display of power put on by your angel friend last year which started this whole mess, you should know how to open the door to Purgatory by yourself. I'm sure a smart hunter like yourself would have kept the list of required ingredients."

Sam nodded. "I do know," he confirmed. "But I don't want to go through the front door like Cas did."

The Alpha Vamp arched an eyebrow.

"I want to go through the back door," Sam further explained. "I want to slip in without detection, find my brother, and then get the hell out."

The Alpha Vamp chuckled. "You kids..." he remarked, shaking his head at the naiveté of the young hunter standing before him. "Sam, I admire your optimism; especially in light of everything you have endured. But surely even you know nothing is ever that simple."

Sam stubbornly clenched his jaw; refusing to listen to reason.

"And besides..." the Alpha Vamp continued. "If your brother has been in Purgatory for more than one minute – and I'm assuming he has – then your efforts are more 'search and recovery' than 'search and rescue'."

Sam shook his head. "You don't know Dean."

"Maybe," the Alpha Vamp agreed. "But I know Purgatory...and I know the types of things that live there."

Sam shook his head again. "Dean's a good hunter."

The Alpha Vamp smiled. "So are they."

Sam swallowed at the implication. "No," he replied, refusing to believe Dean could not survive long enough to be found; long enough to be brought back.

The Alpha Vamp shrugged – because it made no difference to him – and then sighed. "Well, either way – whether your brother is alive or dead – what makes you think I can help you in gaining undetected entry into Purgatory?"

"Because it's your hometown," Sam quickly replied, having given this point extensive thought over the past two days. "Who else would know how to get into the back of their mom's house than one of her own sons?"

The Alpha Vamp chuckled at the analogy. "Clever," he praised. "And correct."

Sam smiled, allowing himself to feel a spark of hopeful relief.

"But..." the ancient vampire countered, holding up his finger in Sam's face; the long, curved, yellowing nail serving as a warning all its own. "I don't think you'll like my requirements."

Sam narrowed his eyes, hating the hesitation that momentarily rose in his chest; pushing it down as he reminded himself this was for Dean; that everything he had done over the past two days was for Dean; to get Dean back.

The Alpha Vamp smiled at Sam's expression. "Shall I share? Or will you be on your way now?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not leaving," he informed, his tone daring to be made to do otherwise.

"Very well," the Alpha Vamp granted, something akin to respect shining in his eyes. "It will come as no surprise that opening the back door of Purgatory requires the same as opening the front – a blood spell."

Sam nodded, having expected as much but still feeling dread flood his chest; because specific blood was becoming harder to get these days. "Whose?"

"Mine," the ancient vampire replied. "As a native of Purgatory, my blood is required in this to serve as a tie to the place in which you wish to gain entry."

Sam nodded his understanding, though he hated having to ask for the Alpha Vamp's blood...again. "Are you willing?" he asked politely.

The Alpha Vamp quirked a smile. "I am if you are."

Sam frowned, tilting his head in confusion as he shifted between the two vampires still holding him. "What?"

"My blood is part of the spell," the Alpha Vamp restated. "But the second – and perhaps most crucial – part of this particular spell is _your _blood...and lots of it."

Sam shook his head, still not following. "Why?"

The Alpha Vamp sighed, hating how plainly things had to be explained sometimes for humans to process. "This is not simply a spell to open Purgatory," he told the young hunter. "It's not just an _entrance_ spell but more of a _locating_ spell. Because regardless of how much faith you may have in your brother to survive the living conditions in which he currently finds himself, I can assure you that there will be little to no time to find Dean once you arrive in my homeland. The blood of a first-line relative will act as a beacon; will connect over time and space and will draw Dean to you."

Sam nodded eagerly, cautious excitement making his heart beat faster. "So, Dean will be waiting at the gate...or whatever? And then we can escape together?"

The Alpha Vamp shook his head. "Better than that," he guaranteed, like a car salesman closing a deal. "If the spell works properly, you will not have to set foot into Purgatory; but instead, your brother will be drawn out. 'Zapped' back here just as he was 'zapped' there. For regardless of all the clichéd adages seeking to assure otherwise, there is no tie stronger than blood."

Sam nodded again, unable to dispute that claim. Because even though he had loved and had felt attached to numerous people over the years that were not related to him, none had come close to the love and attachment he had felt – and would always feel – for his brother.

Dean was all that mattered to Sam – was all that would ever matter – and that was why he would do whatever it took to get his big brother back.

"I trust that you have something that belongs to your brother out in that absurdly loud vehicle you drove here and have stashed down the street?" the Alpha Vamp further inquired, his gaze flickering to the door as if he could see the Impala from the small room. "Something that belongs to Dean but also has an attachment to you would be best."

Sam swallowed against the unexpected emotion that question brought forth; instantly picturing an ugly gold charm resting in a tangle of black cord as it sat tucked in the corner of his duffel bag; safely hidden beneath his clothes for several years now.

"Sam..." the Alpha Vamp called, leaning slightly forward; bringing his face closer to the young hunter's.

Sam reflexively drew back, feeling the two vampires increase their already crushing grip on his arms as they continued to hold him.

"Be still and answer the question," one of them growled and shook him for emphasis.

Sam glanced at the vampire who had spoken and then back at the Alpha Vamp still staring at him expectantly. "Yes," he replied, clearing his throat as the word sounded garbled. "Yes. I have an amulet that Dean used to wear."

The Alpha Vamp nodded and smiled. "Ah, yes. The God-detecting amulet," he recalled – having heard that rumor through the supernatural grapevine – and then chuckled at the absurdity of such an idea; wondering if the angels had really believed that nonsense. "That will work nicely for our spell."

"What will you do with it?" Sam asked, surprised by how protective he felt about his brother's necklace; having not rescued it from the trash and then kept it these past few years just to have it lost again before he found the right time to give it back to Dean.

The Alpha Vamp arched an eyebrow at Sam's tone. "Relax," he soothed. "I will simply pour the mixture of our bloods over this amulet, recite the necessary words, and – "

"I can do that," Sam interrupted, determined to play a key role in bringing Dean back this time; determined to not let some supernatural being return his brother from Purgatory as a supernatural being had done from Hell; determined to be the reason Dean was saved and not just a grateful bystander.

The Alpha Vamp stared at Sam, his expression unreadable. "While I would value your assistance and acknowledge its importance to you, I doubt you will be able to participate."

Sam swallowed, dread once again returning to knot his stomach. "Why not?"

"Because you'll probably be dead," one of the vampires remarked bluntly and then shared a snicker with his fellow vampire standing on the other side of Sam.

"Silence," the Alpha Vamp commanded sharply; his intense gaze warning against further unsolicited commentary.

Both vampires nodded and averted their eyes; bowing their heads in repentant submission.

There was a beat of silence.

The Alpha Vamp sighed, redirecting his attention to Sam. "My apologies," he offered graciously. "I do not tolerate rudeness from my children, and I assure you they will be punished."

"You're going to kill me?" Sam demanded, more angry than scared.

Because how was he supposed to see Dean again if he was dead upon his brother's arrival? What was the point of pursuing this spell if it only resulted in his death which would then jumpstart a whole new cycle of Winchester sacrifice?

The Alpha Vamp shrugged; the gesture more unknowing than indifferent. "There is a possibility you will perish in your efforts to save your brother."

Sam snorted...because this was un-fucking-believable. "So, you _are_ going to kill me."

"No," the Alpha Vamp responded. "I do not presently have plans to kill you."

Sam frowned, confused. "Then what? You're going to turn me?"

The Alpha Vamp laughed at the notion. "Please," he drawled. "The last thing I want is a Winchester in my family."

Sam looked doubtful.

The Alpha Vamp sighed. "I give you my word that you will remain human," he promised and then paused. "So, do we have a deal?"

Sam blinked at the use of that term; uncomfortable with the reminder of crossroads demons; freshly angered at Crowley for double-crossing them even while he was helping them...which might be the Alpha Vamp's plan as well.

"What's the catch?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at the ancient vampire.

The Alpha Vamp arched an eyebrow. "Catch?" he repeated.

"There's always a catch," Sam replied, hearing his brother's cynical tone in his own voice.

The Alpha Vamp chuckled. "I am uncertain if I would label it a 'catch'," he responded. "I would be inclined to think of it more as the cost incurred for getting what you want."

Sam shook his head; could remember enough of law school – and had experienced enough of life – to recognize elegant bullshit when he heard it. "The catch..." he stated simply and waited for an answer.

The Alpha Vamp chuckled again. "I like you, Sam," he confided.

"Thanks," Sam replied dryly.

The Alpha Vamp chuckled once more and then sighed. "The 'catch', as you like to call it, is out of my control. While the spell requires very little of my blood – even less than I gave you for the Leviathan banishment – it requires a great deal of yours, since your blood is the beacon to which Dean will be drawn."

"Meaning?" Sam asked, his stomach beginning to knot.

"Meaning you will not bleed once into the cup and be done as most spells require. But instead, there will need to be a constant flow of your blood to power this 'supernatural search light' into the depths of Purgatory."

The Alpha Vamp paused.

Sam stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Meaning..." the Alpha Vamp continued. "It is highly likely you will bleed out by the time Dean is brought back to this side."

"Meaning the price of Dean's life is my death," Sam rephrased, feeling strangely detached; feeling familiarly ready.

The Alpha Vamp shrugged. "Possibly," he granted. "But this spell has never been attempted. It has always existed; but until now, no human has ever thought to ask about it. So, while it is likely you will die...it is also possible you will live; that you will manage to hold on long enough and that Dean will return in time – and in good enough condition – to save you."

The Alpha Vamp paused again.

"Isn't that what you Winchesters like to do?" the ancient vampire asked the young hunter. "Save each other?"

Sam quirked a sad smile. "Yeah," he agreed. "That's what we like to do."

The Alpha Vamp nodded.

There was a beat of silence.

"So..." the Alpha Vamp began, staring at Sam. "What do you say to these two escorting you to your vehicle to retrieve that amulet, and then you and me getting started on igniting our little search light?"

Sam nodded, swallowing against the mixture of fear and hope that clogged his throat. "I say let's do this."

The Alpha Vamp returned the nod. "So be it," he granted and crisply snapped his fingers at the two vampires still holding Sam; watching as they led the youngest Winchester out of the room.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

"First things first..." John Winchester had told his oldest on that day he had decided Dean was of age to join the family business. "Know what you're hunting. Because then – and only then – will you know how to track it and how to kill it."

Dean had nodded earnestly; had hung on every word his father had said even as he had turned to check on his little brother; to make sure the kid hadn't been listening to their grownup conversation.

But Sam had remained asleep; had lain small and quiet on the mattress, tucked under the covers mere inches away from Dean as he had sat on the edge of the motel bed, facing their father.

"Know what you're hunting," John had said again; the intensity of his gaze and the hard edge of his tone having relayed the importance of that message.

And it had been good advice.

It had been the foundation for everything else Dean had learned since then; had been the first thing Dean had told Sam when his kid brother had joined the hunt several years later; and had saved his ass – and Sam's – more than he could count.

_Know what you're hunting._

But now...

Dean swallowed against his dry throat; his hands reflexively fisting at his side; having _no fucking clue_ what he was facing as he watched the red glowing eyes beyond the trees slowly draw closer but knowing he wasn't going down without a fight.

Because it seemed a hunter's job was never done; not really.

The hunt was always out there. It just seemed to change locations.

"Know what you're hunting," Dean whispered to himself, desperately searching his memory for what kind of creature hunted in packs – because there was obviously more than one of these sonsuvbitches closing in for the kill – and what kind also had those red glowing eyes...and growled like that...and would be that height.

Dean's first impression was "werewolf", and he could remember Sam telling him – his little brother reading to him from one of Bobby's old books as the kid had sat shotgun in the Impala – about how certain types of werewolves infected with a demonic virus would sometimes possess red glowing eyes.

"Huh..." Sam had mused after he had read that description and then had looked over at Dean as the Impala had rumbled down the highway. "That's...disturbing." He had paused. "Ever seen one?"

"Nope," Dean had answered. "But it sounds like one badass mofo."

Sam had laughed. "Yeah."

"Definitely not something I want to meet up with in the woods..." Dean had further remarked.

And as usual, Dean had been right.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean swore harshly; because as best as he could tell, that was exactly what was clearing the tree line – werewolves of the demonic variety.

Dean felt his heart hammer in his chest as he slowly reached behind himself and pulled his gun from the waist of his jeans; immensely grateful it had remained with him during his trip to Purgatory.

"If it bleeds, you can kill it," Dean quietly reminded himself; repeating John's words from over the years; repeating what he himself had told Sam just a few months ago about killer clowns.

_If it bleeds, you can kill it._

Dean nodded his agreement – his _encouragement_ – to himself and raised his weapon; thankful for his years of experience in shooting with no more than a full moon to light his target...and thankful that his gun was loaded with both silver _and_ iron bullets; a "just in case" measure he always took these days to cover his ass.

Because any kind of bullet could kill a human; and most supernatural creatures could be brought down with either silver or iron.

Tilting his head, Dean took aim at the werewolf leading the pack – the alpha, no doubt – and fired; holding his breath as the silver bullet sailed through the dark distance and slammed into the creature's chest.

The wounded werewolf offered no reaction to being hit; no howl, no blink, no flinch.

And Dean wasted no time firing again; knowing the next shot would be an iron round since he had loaded his gun with alternating bullets – silver, iron...silver, iron.

The second bullet produced the same reaction as the first – nothing.

"Shit," Dean hissed in panicked frustration but then narrowed his eyes as the werewolf drew closer.

Because even though the red-eyed creature did not seem to notice being shot _twice..._it was definitely bleeding; the rush of blood from both bullet wounds shining wet and dark in the moonlight as it coated the fur of the werewolf's chest, shoulders, and front legs.

Dean smiled at the sight, even as the pack continued to advance in his direction.

Because if the werewolf was bleeding, that meant it could be killed; that meant they _all _could be killed.

Dean just had to figure out _how _and with _what_.

And he had to figure out both details pretty fucking soon.

"Okay..." Dean sighed harshly, instantly dropping his gun to the leaf-covered ground. "Plan B..."

His eyes never leaving the approaching threat, Dean bent to pick up a large tree limb he had spotted earlier near his feet; because his only other weapon was a knife tucked in his boot – and since a silver bullet hadn't worked, it was a good bet a silver blade would be just as useless.

As they drew closer, the werewolves tossed their heads and snapped at each other – clearly communicating in some way – and then tightened their circle around their prey; red eyes narrowing as they sniffed the air and bared their teeth.

Dean swallowed and tightened his grip around the stick he held; feeling like a jogger planning to fend off a pack of rabid dogs with a twig. But at least he was armed with _something _to physically strike with when the creatures made their move.

"Hi, fellas..." Dean greeted casually, his gaze sweeping the circle; counting at least five werewolves within inches of him. "I'm Dean. I'm new here."

The werewolves growled in response and crouched; seconds away from pouncing on their next meal.

Dean lifted the tree limb – holding it at the same angle he would hold a baseball bat – and waited; the muscles of his arms trembling with anticipation.

Another snarl was the only warning Dean got before the lead werewolf launched itself in his direction; a disorienting blur of blood-matted fur and sharp claws; of snapping teeth, foamy saliva, and those red glowing eyes.

Dean clenched his jaw – inexplicably hoping in that instant that at least Sam was safe wherever the kid was – and swung the tree limb at the attacking werewolf.

But before the limb struck its target, something else whistled through the air with deadly accuracy; striking the werewolf behind its shoulder and plunging its sharp tip deep into the creature's heart.

The werewolf cried out – its piercing howl echoing in the darkness – and then instantly dropped to the ground in an unmoving heap; the red fading from its lifeless eyes.

Enraged by the death of their alpha – and realizing their threat now came from behind – the remaining four werewolves simultaneously turned from Dean and focused instead in the direction from which they had come.

Dean swallowed, following their gaze; just as confused by the sudden turn of events...but _so fucking thankful_ for whoever – or _whatever_ – was out there in the shadows saving his ass.

Because while it was clear the pack's predator was hiding among the trees, it was also clear that Dean was not a target...or else he knew he would already be sprawled on the ground beside the alpha werewolf with an arrow protruding from his chest as well.

So what did that mean?

As he continued to stand in the middle of Purgatory's moonlit woods, Dean could only think of one possibility – Cas.

The fall from earth had seemed to jar loose the angel's childlike insanity – judging by the return of his familiar growly voice and impersonal bluntness. But it was still unlikely that Cas was hiding among the trees and showing off his never-seen-before archery skills.

Especially given Cas's prompt departure at the first sign of werewolf trouble only moments ago; the angel undoubtedly winging away to save his feathered ass...or to contemplate whatever insects Purgatory had to offer.

Either way, surely Cas was not out there in the darkness wielding a bow and arrows?

And as far as Dean knew, he had no other allies in Purgatory.

So...

Dean swallowed again and then held his breath; not daring to move as he continued to hold the massive tree limb in a defensive position and watched the pack, waiting for the werewolves' next move while also scanning the tree line for signs of whoever – or whatever – was playing hero.

After several seconds of collective growling, one of the werewolves – undoubtedly the beta taking over for his deceased alpha – stepped forward...only to receive an arrow in the center of its broad chest.

Dean's eyes widened as the beta dropped and then was quickly joined in death by a third member of the pack.

One of the remaining werewolves whimpered in distress, leaning down to sniff the bodies on either side of it, but earned a sharp snap in its face from the other living werewolf; a clear warning to keep its head in the game.

Because as Dean was quickly learning – in Purgatory, it was either kill...or _be_ killed.

It was as simple – and as terrifying – as that.

The red-eyed werewolves circled each other, growling warningly; both wanting dominance over the other...but both ending up dead as two arrows came whistling out of the darkness and then seemed to magically split at the precise time and distance needed to hit their targets.

Dean blinked at the suddenness with which the two werewolves dropped, and then stood in the silence that followed; his hands cramping from how tightly he continued to hold the tree limb as he listened intently for sounds of movement among the trees.

But there was nothing to hear.

Only silence.

Dean narrowed his eyes and turned a slow, tight circle; scanning the surrounding woods.

But there was nothing to see.

Only trees and darkness.

There was no visual or auditory trace of anyone – or anything – having been there mere seconds before; which was the mark of a truly gifted, lethal, _experienced_ hunter.

Dean frowned, confused by what that implied.

Was there another human – another _hunter_ – in Purgatory with him?

The idea – the _possibility_ – was both exciting and alarming.

Because who the hell would be here besides him?

Dean sighed, his attention darting to each werewolf – all five lying motionless on the ground with a single arrow protruding from their chests – and then felt his frown deepen.

Because neither silver nor iron had made these supernatural creatures react, yet they were all felled by a simple arrow; as best Dean could tell, just a stick that had been shaped and sharpened into a weapon and then had been expertly aimed and fired.

Dean shook his head – because something wasn't adding up – and then glanced back at the tree line; unsure of his next move...whether to let his guard down, to call out, to cross toward the trees...or to just maintain his position.

"Dammit," Dean muttered to himself; hating when he felt uncertain and deciding to at least lower the tree limb before his muscles cramped any more than they already had.

And that's when he saw it; first the moving shadow...and then the actual thing itself.

Dean felt his heart instantly beat faster as the figure emerged from the woods, and he lifted the tree limb again; briefly wondering if he should grab his gun instead.

But there was no time to switch weapons.

The thing drew closer; the full moon making it clear that whatever it was, was walking on two legs...had a bow in one hand, an arrow in the other, and a quiver strapped to its back...was about Dean's height and build...and possessed no outward supernatural feature – no claws, no fangs, no glowing eyes.

In fact, if the approaching figure resembled anything, it resembled a human...and looked unnervingly familiar.

Dean swallowed and shook his head at the realization of who was coming towards him...because surely he was hallucinating; the fall into Purgatory and the resulting demonic werewolf attack too much for his brain to handle.

But the figure only chuckled good-naturedly at Dean's disbelief; stopping a few feet from him and allowing Dean to process what he was seeing.

Dean clenched his jaw in response; taking in the dark features, the scruff of beard, the confident stance...even the silver wedding band on its left hand.

Whatever this was...it was good; had every detail down.

"I suppose you want me to believe you're really him..." Dean speculated, barely resisting the urge to beat the hell out of whatever was standing in front of him.

Because after everything he had been through today, Dean didn't have time or patience for shapeshifting bullshit.

"No," came the reply.

And it was delivered in that deep voice that Dean would know anywhere; a voice roughened by loss and whiskey and years spent on the road; a voice that had always been more likely to deliver a sharp reprimand to a mouthy kid – a dissident solider in the middle of a hunt – but could just as easily offer gentle comfort to a sick child.

Dean swallowed against the emotion that clogged his throat and continued to stare at what stood before him.

"I expect you to want proof," the thing told Dean and actually smiled its approval of that expectation.

Before Dean could nod his agreement – because that was _exactly_ what he wanted...and he wanted it _right fucking now_ – the probable shifter looped its bow over its shoulder, tucked the extra arrow into the quiver on its back, and pulled a knife from its boot; cutting a slice across the exposed skin of its left forearm and showing no reaction as blood pooled around the silver blade.

Dean nodded his acknowledgement of the non-sizzling flesh as the not-a-shifter looked at him – holding its gaze in guarded hope – and then watched as it wiped the blood from the blade and slid the knife back in its boot before removing a flask from the back pocket of its jeans.

"Holy water," it told him and took a drink; showing no reaction to that either before capping the thin container and sliding it back in its pocket.

There was a beat of silence.

"If you've got salt, you can throw at it me," it offered. "Or say 'Christo' if it makes you happy."

Dean said nothing but continued to watch the figure as it wiped its bleeding arm across the thigh of its jeans and then rolled down its faded green shirtsleeve, covering the self-inflicted cut.

"But all any of that is gonna do is continue to waste our time – 'cause I'm not a shifter or a demon or any other thing you might think. I'm _me_, Dean," John earnestly assured, his eyes shining with pride and love as he looked at his oldest. "And it is _damn good_ to see you, boy."

Dean felt his own eyes sting with tears at that admission; somehow knowing the person standing in front of him was indeed his father; that unmistakable, unexplainable Winchester connection still intact and stronger than ever...even after all these years of separation.

"Oh my god..." Dean whispered, choking out in those three words the confusion and wonder and _relief _he felt as he finally dropped his guard – the tree limb hitting the ground with a solid thump – and stepped toward John.

John did likewise, closing the gap between himself and Dean; the bow still looped over his shoulder rattling against the quiver of arrows strapped to his back as he wrapped his arms around his oldest.

"You're here..." Dean stated, not knowing what else to say; returning his father's hug while also looking over John's shoulder for any potential threat; knowing John was doing the same over his shoulder; father and son watching each other's backs, working as a team as they always had.

And it felt _so damn good_; _so damn right..._even if they were both trapped in Purgatory.

"I escaped hell, and I wasn't in heaven," John recapped, his tone amused. "So where did you think I was?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted quietly. "I tried not to think about it."

John nodded his understanding – having plenty of things he tried not to think about as well – and heartily patted his son's back; a masculine display of love and affection.

Dean sighed as he and John simultaneously pushed away from each other and then stared at his dad; so many questions flooding his mind that he wasn't sure what to ask first.

John chuckled, seeming to know. "I'll explain everything," he assured. "But first, we need to clean up here and get back to camp. It's not safe out here in the open."

"Camp?" Dean shook his head, trying to imagine what that must look like in a place like this. "You have a camp?"

"Absolutely," John responded proudly. "It's not far from here and will give us somewhere to hole up and figure out what the hell we're gonna do about Sam."

"Sam?" Dean asked sharply, instantly on alert. "What about Sam? He's not here."

"I know," John quickly agreed.

Dean frowned. "How do you know?"

"Because if Sam was here, he would be with you," John replied, his tone slightly irritated at being made to explain something so obvious. "And he sure as hell wouldn't have vanished at the first sign of trouble and left you to fight five werewolves by yourself."

Dean arched an eyebrow at the implication, sensing John somehow knew he hadn't fallen into Purgatory alone.

"Unlike your angel friend," John coolly added, his opinion of Cas quite clear as he stepped around Dean and crossed to the nearest dead werewolf.

"You saw Cas?" Dean clarified, wondering how long John had been hiding among the trees; wondering if John somehow knew about Cas prior to seeing him just seconds before; wondering how much John knew about anything that had happened over the past few years.

John nodded. "Fucking angels," he growled and then shook his head disgustedly. "I hate the bastards," he declared, as if Dean couldn't already tell.

"I know that feeling," Dean agreed and glanced around the wooded area. "But I wonder where Cas went..."

John scowled. "Who gives a shit?" he asked sharply, though something in his expression implied that he knew exactly where the angel was.

Dean blinked at the raw hatred in his father's tone; sensing that John somehow knew what Cas had done..._all_ of it.

But how?

Dean swallowed, wanting to ask how John even _knew_ about angels but deciding to wait until later; his dad obviously pissed at the mention of them...and obviously in a hurry.

"Help me collect these," John ordered over his shoulder, gesturing to the arrows still protruding from the creatures' chests. "Half of Purgatory already knows you're here...and that I came out to get you...so, we need to move before something else gets our scent."

Dean nodded his understanding, casting a cautious glance around the wooded area, and then crossed to one of the dead werewolves. "How did you know?" he asked after a beat of silence.

"That you were here?" John clarified, jerking one of his arrows from a werewolf carcass.

Dean nodded, doing the same; examining the bloody arrow he had pulled from the beta's body and confirming what he had suspected – it was just a sharpened stick.

"Hard to explain," John responded. "If you've been here long enough, you just know – kind of a 'disturbance in the force' feeling when something or someone new arrives. Plus, there's other ways you'll see when we get back to camp."

"Someone?" Dean paused, staring at John as his dad pulled another arrow from another werewolf. "What do you mean 'someone'? Other people are here?"

John nodded but offered nothing else.

"Who? How many?"

"Patience, grasshopper," John replied dryly. "You'll see soon enough."

Dean scowled; reminded of how much he used to hate when his father deliberately kept information from him.

It seemed some things never changed.

Dean sighed and snatched another arrow from one of the werewolves. "How long have you been here?" he asked; having a good idea based off the last time he saw John's ghost flicker out of sight in that graveyard after they had finally killed the yellow-eyed demon...but still wanting to hear his dad's estimation.

John shrugged. "Hard to say. Time doesn't exist here. It's one never-ending night. So it could be days just as easily as it could be years."

"Time doesn't exist?" Dean repeated, his thoughts once again returning to Sam; wondering how long his brother had been without him back on earth; hoping that no matter how much time had passed, Sam was still okay. "How's that possible?"

"Just is," John replied calmly, freeing the last arrow; a sickening squelch coming from the alpha's bloody side. "It's always night...and always a full moon."

Dean glanced up at the perfectly round, remarkably bright moon shining yellowish-white in the black, cloudless sky. "Supernatural paradise," he drawled as his gaze wandered over the dense brush and tall trees surrounding them as far as he could see.

John nodded. "Most monsters prefer to hunt at night...with a full moon...and lots of tress for good cover."

Dean nodded his understanding of that logic – of why Purgatory made the perfect homeland for all things supernatural – but then frowned, still confused about his new habitat. "So if it's always night, how do you know when to sleep?"

"We don't."

Dean handed the two arrows he held over to his father as John approached. "Never?"

"Never. There's no need for it," John told his oldest, sticking the arrows into his quiver; their bloody tips striking its bottom.

Dean swallowed, remembering the last person he had encountered who had no need for sleep...ever. "So..." He swallowed again. "Are we soulless?"

John cut his eyes at his son, seeming to know why Dean was asking. "No," he assured. "Our souls are intact and onboard."

"How do you know?" Dean pressed; not feeling any different but still needing reassurance that he was not operating on some kind of douchebag autopilot.

"I just do," John returned with the soothing confidence he always had. "In heaven and hell, the soul separates from the body and does its own thing – whether that's living out its best memories or enduring its worst nightmares. So a body ain't that important; just the soul. But here...here body and soul are bound together – even if your body was properly laid to rest back on earth."

"Which I guess explains why you're walking around here looking like...well...you," Dean finished lamely and smiled.

"Guess so," John agreed. "Seems to be the norm with the others, too; even if they were burned on earth, they're bound back with body and soul as soon as they arrive here." He paused. "Guess we're a nice little combo snack-pack for Eve's kids to munch on when they get tired of munching on each other."

Dean scrunched his face at the visual that description brought forth. "So, you know about Eve?"

"Who _doesn't_ know that bitch?" John countered. "You boys did a damn good job sending her ass back home, but she's sure been pissed since she got back here. Been in the kitchen baking up fresh batches of hybrid creatures ever since."

"Nice," Dean commented dryly and shook his head. "So, how many are here?"

"Monsters?"

Dean nodded.

John shrugged. "Hard to keep track. At last estimation, there was well over a billion. And then there's all the Leviathans that have been coming back recently." He smiled. "Good work, boys."

Dean nodded; wishing Sam was there to share in the praise.

"Anyway..." John continued. "Doesn't really matter how many monsters are here 'cause about as fast as we kill 'em, Mommy Dearest whips up more."

Dean narrowed his eyes; not missing his dad's constant use of "we"...which implied more hunters.

But _who_?

Dean glanced at the dead werewolves scattered on the ground, reminded of how a simple stick had done what neither silver nor iron could. "How do you kill them?"

John smiled, knowing his son was disappointed that the usual defenses hadn't worked against the red-eyed werewolves. "You put up a good fight with what you had, Dean."

Dean snorted his opinion of that statement. "Maybe. But this sure didn't seem to have any effect on them," he observed as he bent to pick up his gun from where he had dropped it earlier. "It was like I was shooting blanks."

John nodded. "You were," he agreed and then paused. "See, on earth, we have our...tricks," he explained, referring to silver and iron and salt and all the countless other weapons and tools hunters used to combat the supernatural. "But down here, things _in_ Purgatory can only be killed by things _from_ Purgatory."

Dean arched an eyebrow, his gaze flickering from the dead werewolves to the quiver strapped against John's back; instantly understanding why his gun hadn't worked and why the arrows were nothing but shaped and sharpened sticks. Because those sticks had once been part of trees that had grown in Purgatory...that were _from_ Purgatory...and that was why they could kill the demonic werewolves _in_ Purgatory.

"Huh. Interesting loophole," Dean commented, tucking his gun back in the waist of his jeans.

John chuckled. "There's lots of those here."

"I'm sure," Dean agreed, already feeling overwhelmed with everything he had to learn to survive in this new environment. "Guess I'll need to be getting my own set of sticks."

"They're arrows, thank-you-very-much," John corrected, chuckling again. "We've got extras back at camp. And quivers, too..." he added.

"You make all of your weapons?"

John nodded. "Whatever we have here, we made with things from here. And then we also have whatever we were lucky enough to fall with...like our knives, flasks, rosaries; all the things a hunter usually has on him."

Dean returned the nod, still wondering about "we" but at least realizing now why he still had his gun and his knife...why John also had his own knife and flask and was apparently able to make holy water – because you got to keep what you fell with.

"Guess that's a Purgatory perk?" Dean ventured.

John snorted. "Yeah...the only one."

"Too bad Sam's not here," Dean mused. "We'd probably have a laptop."

John quirked a smile. "Who says we don't already have one?"

Dean gave a startled laugh; his mind buzzing with possibilities about who could be waiting back at camp...and with what.

Not that it mattered; not really.

Because the only person Dean wanted to see – _needed_ to see – wasn't going to be there.

And while Dean was glad Sam hadn't been sucked into this mess, he still missed his brother; still worried about the kid and missed being able keep a watch over him.

It had been such a hard, _hard_ year...and Sam didn't need to be alone.

Not now.

Dean sighed in the silence, feeling the crushing absence of his brother; that indescribable hole that only Sam could fill. "I hope Sammy's okay."

John cut his eyes at his oldest and nodded his agreement but said nothing; his expression unreadable.

Dean narrowed his eyes, renewed uneasiness washing over him. "Dad..."

"We need to get back to camp," John stated; his tone suddenly urgent as he turned away from Dean. "Stay close," he advised; his boots barely making a sound as he marched back toward the tree line.

Dean hesitated, hating when he felt like John was hiding something from him – especially if it was something about Sam.

But what could John know about Sam that Dean didn't?

Whether his dad realized it or not, John had been in Purgatory for at least five or six years; whereas Dean had seen Sam just a few minutes ago.

Or at least, it _felt_ like just a few minutes ago.

Dean swallowed; panic spreading through his chest as he remembered John's explanation about time in Purgatory – it didn't exist.

So for all Dean knew, Sam could still be standing in the middle of SucroCorp's lab, only minutes having passed. Or his brother could be thousands of miles away from Leviathan headquarters...days or weeks or years having already clicked by.

At this very moment, Sam could be doing god knows what – or having god knows what being done to _him_ – in his desperation to get Dean back...and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it.

Dean swallowed at the realization – at the _very real possibility _– of Sam doing something really fucking stupid.

"Shit," Dean hissed and then sighed harshly, shaking his head; hating the anxiety that had freshly settled in his chest; the kind of anxiety that only Sam could produce.

"Dean..." John called, standing at the tree line.

Dean blinked at the sound of his name and nodded at his father; glancing around at the dead werewolves one last time before walking in John's direction.

"Just hang on, Sammy..." Dean quietly urged; hoping Sam would somehow sense his voice over time and space. "I'm coming," he promised his missing brother – uncertain of how he was going to keep that promise – and then followed John into Purgatory's moonlit forest.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	3. Chapter 3

Still flanked by two vampires – their grip on his arms just as crushing as when they had first seized and unarmed him hardly an hour before – Sam crossed back to the Alpha Vamp's massive house; over the immaculate lawn, through the ornate iron gate, up the sidewalk, past the imposing stone columns, and straight into the foyer.

Upon entry, both vampires stopped – causing Sam to do the same – and then looked at each other, seeming uncertain as to where they were supposed to take the young hunter; having received orders from their father only to escort Sam to retrieve the amulet from the Impala's trunk.

"Now what?" one whispered while the other shrugged.

Amulet in hand – the black cord laced between his fingers, the tarnished gold charm gripped so tightly that its horns dug into the flesh of his scarred left palm – Sam twisted in the vampires' grasp; remembering a few days prior when he and Dean had stood in this exact spot; just as trapped as he currently was...but at least trapped together.

And now...

_You are well and truly on your own. _

Sam felt his eyes mist at the echo of Crowley's words – a seemingly endless echo in his head – and gripped the amulet impossibly tighter; relishing the resulting pain as the charm dug even deeper into his scarred flesh, allowing him to refocus; to not dwell on what was lost but rather on what he had to do to get it back.

Because even if it killed him – and it probably would – Sam was going to reclaim what was taken from him; was going to get Dean back no matter what.

The pair of vampires sighed in unison and looked at each other again.

"Maybe the study?" one suggested as the silence was suddenly interrupted by approaching footsteps; the soles of expensive shoes striking the hardwood floor with crisp, deliberate movement; confidence in every stride.

"Or maybe not..." the other vampire countered and then glanced at Sam, narrowing his eyes in warning. "Don't try anything."

Sam nodded at the reminder but kept his focus straight ahead as he was moved forward by his escorts; silently counting the echo of each footstep until the Alpha Vamp appeared at the end of the hall, standing tall and proud in his dark tailored suit.

"Sam..." the Alpha Vamp greeted, sounding genuinely pleased to the see the young hunter.

Sam nodded his acknowledgement of the Alpha but said nothing as he was once again halted by his vampire companions and made to stand in the middle of the hallway.

"Release him," the Alpha Vamp ordered his children and watched approvingly as they obeyed; both vampires instantly releasing their hold on Sam and taking a few steps back.

Sam glanced briefly to his right – peering into the dining room where he and Dean had been brought days earlier – and wished Dean was standing beside him now; wished his chest didn't physically ache from Dean's absence, from how much he missed his big brother.

_You are well and truly on your own. _

Sam clenched his jaw at the recurring memory of those words and of Crowley's smug expression and blasé tone as he had delivered them.

"I trust you were able to retrieve the required item for our spell?" the Alpha Vamp asked cordially as he drew closer.

Sam blinked and turned his attention away from the dining room. "Yes," he confirmed, feeling the familiar shape of the amulet clutched in his hand, and watched as the ancient vampire came to stand in front of him.

"Excellent," the Alpha Vamp praised and then smiled; the expression vaguely unnerving – seeming to convey less general approval of a mutually-discussed plan coming together...and more quiet satisfaction over a hidden, self-serving agenda falling into place.

Sam felt his stomach knot – remembering how relatively easily the Alpha Vamp had agreed to help him – and belatedly wondered what was in it for the ancient vampire.

Because in Sam's experience, supernatural creatures didn't help hunters – especially not twice in one week – without benefitting themselves...usually at the hunter's expense.

But Sam had been too desperate – too blinded by his primary focus of rescuing Dean – to have bothered asking about the details; hadn't thought to discuss the specific terms of their arrangement...of their unspoken _deal_.

Sam swallowed at the thought of that word; knowing that was exactly what he was in the middle of – a deal.

I'll do that for you...if you do this for me...and 'round and 'round it went.

Only Sam didn't know his end of the bargain; had no clue what he was supposed to do in exchange for the Alpha's help in pulling Dean from Purgatory.

_You're a dumbass_, Dean's voice suddenly hissed inside Sam's head at the realization of what he had gotten himself into – the tone pissed but mostly worried...as Sam knew it would be if his brother had been present.

Sam swallowed again – almost dizzy from the amount of worst-case scenarios suddenly crowding his mind – but he knew he had no choice now; was trapped in a whole other way besides being physically blocked on either side by two vampires while standing in an Alpha's house.

The Alpha Vamp chuckled knowingly. "Relax, Sam," he advised, his tone strangely soothing. "What I want from you – what I intend to take – will scarcely be missed. Especially given your impending circumstances, it will be a mere drop in the ocean."

Sam shook his head; feeling his stomach knot even tighter at the purposefully vague response. "Meaning?"

The Alpha Vamp smiled and crossed his arms over his chest; his large, ancient hands grasping either of his elbows; the long, curved nails of his index fingers thoughtfully tap, tap, tapping the imported fabric of his suit.

"Tell me, Sam..." the Alpha Vamp began, turning to face the painting hanging prominently in the center of the wall; its ornate gold frame shining in the hallway's light. "What does this depict?"

Sam followed the Alpha's gaze, recognizing the familiar scene captured on canvas. He had seen the painting when he and Dean had previously visited the vampire's mansion – and had thought it was an unusual choice...a representation of good defeating evil hanging in something evil's house – but had also seen it in other places throughout his life; churches, museums, his freshman art history class at Stanford...

The Alpha Vamp glanced at Sam expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer.

Sam sighed, not in the mood to discuss artwork – and not understanding why it mattered to the Alpha. But he did know every second they wasted standing in the hall was one more second Dean was in Purgatory. So if the Alpha wanted to discuss artwork...

"It's Michael defeating Satan," Sam replied, barely containing an annoyed sigh.

The Alpha Vamp arched a disapproving eyebrow.

Sam scowled in return. "What?"

"A much too simplistic explanation for such a complex theme, don't you think?" the Alpha Vamp scolded and then shook his head as adults do when dealing with lazy children attempting to take shortcuts. "Try again."

Sam's scowl deepened. "I want to find Dean."

"And you will," the Alpha Vamp assured calmly and then nodded at the painting. "But first...you will try again."

Sam sighed harshly, because he _really_ didn't have time for this shit.

"Sam..."

"It's a painting by Josse Lieferinxe," Sam replied, uncertain if he got the pronunciation right – freshman art history was a long time ago – but figuring it didn't matter; because the Alpha already knew and was only testing him...for whatever reason.

The Alpha Vamp nodded. "Continue..."

Sam sighed. "It was completed sometime between 1493 and 1505."

"And its title?" the Alpha asked, every bit the patient professor he was pretending to be.

Sam stared at the painting; its subjects – both in person and in topic – hitting a little too close to home.

"Sam..."

"_St. Michael Killing the Dragon_," Sam replied and then shrugged."Or sometimes it's referred to as _St. Michael _Slaying_ the Dragon._"

"Yes," the Alpha Vamp agreed. "But either way, the dragon is universally thought to represent...?"

Sam swallowed; because after everything that had happened, especially over the past few years, he really hated being made to say his name..._any _of his names.

"Who is the dragon supposed to be, Sam?" the Alpha pressed, his expression strangely eager.

Sam swallowed again, feeling as though he would choke on the answer. "Satan."

"Ah, yes...Satan," the Alpha Vamp repeated and hummed his approval of Sam's overall explanation; a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Very good," he further praised and then paused. "I knew you knew."

And didn't that sum up everything about this situation? The Alpha Vamp knowing what Sam knew...and what he didn't.

The ancient vampire held Sam's gaze before reaching toward the painting. "Now...correct me if I'm wrong – as you would know better than I – but this does not resemble Satan at all...does it?"

Sam clenched his jaw as the Alpha pointed to the birdlike dragon pinned on its back with Michael's boot crammed in its mouth as if the angel wished to stop the torrent of threats and lies undoubtedly spewing forth.

Sam could imagine because he had heard them; had intimately known the violent desire of silencing the devil for good.

"Does it?" the Alpha Vamp verbally prodded; his curved fingernail scraping against the texture of the canvas as he continued to point to the fallen winged creature in the painting.

"No," Sam answered simply, his grip tightening around the amulet he still held in his left hand; allowing the pain to remind him that his Lucifer was gone; that the only thing real to him was Dean; that all that mattered was getting Dean back...no matter how many thinly veiled taunts he had to endure from the Alpha Vamp in the process.

"Didn't think so," the ancient vampire agreed about the dragon not resembling actual Satan himself. "So, what does that mean? What conclusions can we draw from this misrepresentation?"

Sam sighed and shifted where he stood; not wanting to discuss the topic anymore but knowing he had no choice; knowing the Alpha Vamp was attempting to make some kind of point.

"It's unlikely the artist intentionally misrepresented Satan," Sam explained, staring at the beaked creature.

"Why?"

Sam shrugged as if the topic made no impact on him; as if part of his wounded soul wasn't twitching at being made to discuss his former bunk buddy. "Satan has been portrayed in various ways throughout history according to the artist's beliefs and perceptions."

"Ahhh..." the Alpha Vamp mused and smiled, pleased to have finally reached his teaching point; raising his curved finger to indicate the lesson was almost complete. "So, then, we can conclude that life is perception; that things are often not as they seem; that what we think we see – what we think we _know_ – is often much different than we originally thought it to be."

Sam cut his eyes at the Alpha, not liking where this conversation was going.

The Alpha Vamp's smile widened; his finger slowly gliding over the canvas to point to the scale of justice secured to Michael's staff.

"And we can also conclude that the battle of good..." – the Alpha indicated one side of the scale – "...versus evil..." – he indicated the scale's other side before tracing the archangel's red cape – "...will always be cloaked in blood...and will end in violence and sacrifice," he finished, pointing to Michael's raised sword, to the dragon's spiked weapon, and then to the cross at the top of the angel's staff.

Sam swallowed as he followed the Alpha's foreboding logic; his stomach knotting at the implication.

There was a beat of silence.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, his quiet tone both determined and scared.

Because Sam knew this was what the Alpha had been building up to; that the Alpha's answer would reveal his part of the deal; what he had unknowingly committed to by accepting the vampire's help in bringing Dean back from Purgatory.

But if the spell worked, the price would be worth it...right?

Sam swallowed against the fear and uncertainty that rose in his throat. "What do you want?" he repeated, gripping the amulet in his left hand; a tactile reminder that _this_ – everything he did, everything he gave – was for Dean.

The Alpha Vamp chuckled, like a spider must do whenever it spies a new fly in its web. "I want what we all want – what we all _expect_ – in return for services rendered," he replied, his deep voice filling the hallway. "Payment."

Sam frowned. "Payment?" he echoed, feeling his heart hammer in his chest at all the things that one word could mean...especially when paired with his recent "art lesson" about how things weren't as they seemed; about blood, violence, and sacrifice.

"Payment," the Alpha Vamp repeated and then chuckled at Sam's expression. "You'll see," he assured the young hunter and then turned, walking further up the hall and signaling the other two vampires to follow with Sam.

In the next instant, Sam was seized on either side; his arms once again held within the vampires' crushing grips as he was led down the dimly lit hall behind the Alpha.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked as panic spread through his chest; still clutching the amulet in his left hand as if it would somehow keep him safe.

"Disneyland," one of the vampires quipped, earning a snort from the other.

"Children..." the Alpha Vamp lightly admonished and continued down the hall.

Still holding Sam between them and following behind their father, the pair of vampires glanced at each other; smiling as reprimanded children often do – not sorry for their offense, only sorry they were caught.

There was a beat of silence; the Alpha's crisp strides echoing over Sam's booted-footsteps and the vampires' casual shuffling as the group turned the hallway's corner, revealing a shorter hall with only one door at its end.

Sam swallowed against the panic that continued to build in his chest, that familiar "fight or flight" response to danger; willing himself to resist his hunter instinct to fight and his human instinct to run. Because whatever waited for him behind that door, he had asked for and would have to endure if he wanted to see Dean again.

_You are well and truly on your own. _

Sam squeezed the amulet in his left hand; reminding himself that while those words were true right now...they wouldn't be for long – because Dean was coming back.

Sam twitched a smile at the thought even as his heart continued to hammer in his chest.

"I can hear your blood," one of the vampires whispered to Sam as they moved toward the door; his lips mere inches from the young hunter's ear, from his neck.

"And I can smell it," the other vampire added; his words and proximity equally threatening.

The Alpha Vamp paused in front of the door at the end of the hall; his hand on the knob as he glanced over his shoulder; his expression indicating his irritated disapproval even before he spoke. "Another word from either of you...and it will be your last," he warned, his gaze flickering between his two children.

Both vampires nodded their understanding; instantly reminded of their place.

The Alpha stared at them in quiet disgust before silently dismissing them with a tilt of his head.

The vampires sighed their own displeasure but simultaneously released their hold on Sam; roughly shoving the young hunter forward before turning and disappearing down the hall.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, watching them go, and then refocused on the Alpha as the ancient vampire opened the door.

Wordlessly, the Alpha Vamp invited Sam to enter; his open palm sweeping through the air and pointing inside the room.

Sam hesitated; knowing this was the proverbial point of no return; that once he entered there would be no backing out.

The Alpha sighed, his patience clearly dwindling. "Sam..."

Sam nodded – _because this was for Dean_ – and stepped forward, crossing the threshold and giving the room a customary once-over; not surprised that its interior resembled the study that he and Dean had been held captive in a few days prior.

Sam turned a slow circle, taking in the vaulted ceiling and high windows; the dark, polished walls and the hardwood floors; the richly colored draperies and rugs, which complemented the two sofas and one chair; the fireplace and the painting hanging above its mantle.

The only thing seeming out of place in the elegant room was a red cooler – the kind most people kept their beer in – sitting on the floor beside the chair in the middle of the room.

"They were right you know..." the Alpha Vamp commented, distracting Sam's attention to details.

Sam glanced at the Alpha expectantly but said nothing as the vampire entered the room; his body humming with adrenaline; his left hand cramping from how tightly he was holding the amulet.

"We _can_ hear and smell your blood," the Alpha elaborated, closing the door and clicking its lock into place before crossing to stand beside Sam.

Sam nodded, vaguely remembering Dean saying something similar to him; back when he was soulless and Dean was a vampire.

_Your blood is so freaking loud..._

"Sorry," Sam quietly apologized – like he always did whenever those memories crept to the surface – and then stepped away from the Alpha Vamp; glancing again at the painting above the fireplace.

The Alpha followed Sam's gaze. "Do you know this one?"

Sam shook his head; interested only in beginning the spell, in finding Dean...not in another lengthy, disturbing conversation about the Alpha's artwork collection.

But the Alpha Vamp did not seem deterred.

"It reminds me of home," the ancient vampire confided, like a soldier clinging to a photograph in the middle of a battleground.

Sam shook his head again. "This isn't supposed to represent Purgatory," he informed, wishing he didn't always feel compelled to correct people when they were wrong; wishing he could turn off his intelligence and just shut the fuck up sometimes.

The Alpha Vamp arched an eyebrow, seeming amused; undoubtedly already knowing Sam knew more about the painting than he had implied. "Then what does it represent?"

Sam sighed. "Hell," he answered simply.

The Alpha blinked in response, silently waiting for further explanation.

Sam sighed again. "The man in the brown cloak is supposed to be Dante being led through the circles of Hell by the poet Virgil."

"Purgatory is part of Dante's _Divine Comedy_," the Alpha Vamp countered smoothly, referring to the epic 14th century poem.

"So is Paradise."

The Alpha Vamp chuckled. "Touché." He paused before pointing at the two naked figures in the center of the canvas; one biting the neck of the other. "What do you make of this?"

"Two souls doing battle," Sam replied and then swallowed; the topic once again hitting too close to home as he recalled the parts of himself that had warred against each other.

"They are two souls," the Alpha agreed. "But they are personified here and are inarguably posed as vampires, which is why I guess this painting has always reminded me of home..."

Sam swallowed, feeling tears unexpectedly sting his eyes as he continued to hold the amulet. Because for him, the only thing that had always defined home – even more than John, even more than the Impala – was Dean...and now Dean was gone.

_You are well and truly on your own. _

Sam clenched his jaw and squeezed the amulet. "Enough talking," he told the Alpha, surprising himself with his boldness. "I want to find Dean."

The Alpha Vamp glanced at the young hunter; his mouth slowly curving into a smile. "Very well," he granted, removing the jacket of his dark suit and then nodding at the chair positioned in the middle of the room. "Sit."

Sam turned, eyeing the chair and hesitating when he noticed the various straps attached to it.

"Sit," the Alpha repeated, draping his jacket over the back of one of the sofas before unbuttoning the starched cuffs of his white shirt. "Or you will be assisted in doing so."

Sam shook his head at the polite warning. "Straps?" he asked instead, his tone accusatory. "Why am I being strapped to the chair?"

The Alpha sighed, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "Losing the amount of blood you are about to lose will result in extreme weakness and eventual unconsciousness."

Sam swallowed at the dose of reality.

"Either way..." the Alpha Vamp continued. "The straps will ensure you stay upright in the seat for optimal, uninterrupted blood flow...which is crucial to the effectiveness of the spell. Dean can't come towards the light you shine into Purgatory if it constantly flickers in and out."

Sam nodded his understanding but still felt hesitant; hesitant to sit...and hesitant to trust anyone or anything that wasn't his brother.

But he had no choice now; had no one else to help him.

And this was _for_ his brother, so...

Sam sighed harshly but crossed to the chair and sat.

The Alpha Vamp nodded his approval as he approached the chair. "Take off your outer shirt," he instructed and waited for Sam to do so.

Sam narrowed his eyes but did as he was told; dropping the amulet to his lap and revealing a gray t-shirt as he removed his long-sleeved shirt; tossing the plaid material to the floor before grabbing the amulet again.

The Alpha smiled. "You know you will have to eventually give that to me," he commented and nodded toward the amulet hidden in Sam's grasp.

"Not yet," Sam responded, feeling fiercely protective of the one thing he had left – except for the Impala – that reminded him of Dean; that was a connection to his brother that stretched across their childhoods.

The Alpha Vamp chuckled and set about his task. "It will be your instinct to struggle," he told Sam as he wrapped the worn leather straps around the young hunter's wrists. "But I would advise against that," he continued, bending to secure Sam's ankles to the chair's legs. "Because the more you struggle, the faster you will bleed out."

Sam nodded; watching as the Alpha crossed behind him; the vampire's long fingers expertly securing the straps that wrapped around his chest. "How long will it take to get Dean back?"

"Impossible to say since this spell has never been attempted before now," the Alpha Vamp responded, buckling the last strap and crossing to the small closet on the far side of the room. "The only certainty is that it _will_ work. Whether you will survive to see the results..."

The Alpha shrugged the rest of his response – clearly not concerned with Sam's fate – and opened the closet door, revealing several IV stands and a pegboard full of empty blood bags.

Sam shifted in his seat; his heart instantly beating faster at the sight. "What are you doing?" he asked, hating the tremble in his voice as he watched the Alpha Vamp roll one of the IV stands closer; two empty blood bags hanging on either side.

"Collecting payment," the Alpha answered, positioning the IV stand on Sam's right side and then crossing to an end table beside one of the sofas; opening the top drawer and removing two needles, a tourniquet, and a roll of medical tape.

Sam swallowed against the dread rising in his throat. "My blood?"

The Alpha Vamp chuckled. "You're adorable," he told Sam, his condescending tone matching his expression as he crossed back to the young hunter. "Of course I want your blood. I realize it's cliché, but what else would a vampire want?"

"Why?" Sam demanded, beginning to squirm in the chair; wishing he had never allowed the ancient vampire to strap him in; knowing it had been a stupid, desperate decision. "You have cases of blood."

The Alpha nodded. "I do," he agreed. "But it's not Sam Winchester blood."

Sam paused in his struggling and tilted his head. "What?"

The Alpha Vamp smiled. "Sam Winchester blood," he repeated. "There's a surprisingly high demand for it on the supernatural black market."

Sam stared at the ancient vampire, speechless.

The Alpha's smile widened. "Your blood – unlike your brother's – comes up in conversation more than you know," he explained. "A Winchester...born of the heavenly match between John Winchester and Mary Campbell...one of Azazel's special children...blood tainted with traces of demonic sulfur...blood from the vessel that housed Lucifer himself...a first-line blood relative of the vessel meant to house Michael." He paused. "Your blood is like proverbial gold, Sam."

Sam swallowed, afraid to ask why and yet unable to stop himself. "Why?"

"For spells," the Alpha Vamp answered simply. "So many spells have your blood on their ingredient list..." He smiled. "That's what one pint will be saved for," he informed, pointing at one of the empty blood bags hanging from the IV stand. "The other will be for consumption; served sparingly and treated as the aged fine wine that it is. Twenty-nine year old AB negative..."

The Alpha momentarily closed his eyes as though he could taste it already.

Sam squirmed in his seat, once again testing the strength of the leather straps that held him in place. "How – "

" – did I know it was AB negative?" the Alpha Vamp finished, opening his eyes and smiling again. "I told you – I can smell it. Less than one percent of the world's population has that blood type. So, when I smell it...I know it."

Sam shook his head. "You can't have it."

The Alpha Vamp laughed; the sound deep and loud in the relatively small room.

Sam glared. "You can't," he barked, as if he had a choice. "I need it."

The Alpha chuckled. "So do I," he agreed dryly, pushing up the sleeve of Sam's t-shirt and tightly tying the tourniquet around the hunter's bicep.

Sam shook his head again. "I need it for the spell," he clarified, shifting once more in his seat; his wrists twisting in the leather straps as the Alpha's fingers pressed against the skin of his forearm. "You said it would take a lot to get Dean back. But how will I get him back if you – "

"Relax," the Alpha Vamp soothed, unsheathing one of the needles and attaching it to one of the blood bag's tubing. "Although I would love to drain you..." he confessed, removing the bag from the IV stand and placing it in Sam's lap. "I gave you my word that I wouldn't kill you. The spell might...but I will not," he assured, splaying his fingers on Sam's arm.

Sam flinched as the needle penetrated his skin; hissing in pain as he felt its sharp tip plunge deeper than usual.

"Artery," the Alpha explained at Sam's reaction, taping the needle in place against the hunter's skin. "Stronger blood flow than found in a vein – and faster, too."

"And more dangerous," Sam pointed out, scrunching his face at the pulsating pain as he watched his bright red blood rush down the tubing into the clear plastic bag.

"Please," the Alpha Vamp scoffed. "I can hear your blood pressure. You're fine..."

_...for now_ was left unspoken, but Sam still heard the message; knew the Alpha was playing loosely with his life – the vampire more concerned about his "payment" than about Sam having enough blood to complete the spell to bring Dean back from Purgatory.

_You are well and truly on your own._

Sam closed his eyes as Crowley's words once again echoed in his head; squeezing the amulet in his left hand and trying to think of anything except his current situation; trying to picture Dean and how this would all be worth it once his big brother was with him again.

Because out of all the things Sam could handle, being alone – being without Dean – wasn't one of them.

Several minutes passed before Sam felt the Alpha Vamp's touch on his arm, and he jerked at the sensation; opening his eyes and glaring at the vampire standing mere inches from him.

The Alpha arched an eyebrow at Sam's hard expression but otherwise showed no reaction and offered no explanation for what he was doing.

Realizing the bag in his lap was heavier than before, Sam glanced down; seeing that the bag was indeed full of his blood; the kind of bright red blood that only arteries give.

"Time for Round #2?" Sam asked bitterly, feeling somewhat lightheaded as he watched the Alpha clamp the thin tubing of the blood bag long enough to disconnect it and then attach it to the second empty bag.

The Alpha didn't reply to Sam's question – the answer being obvious enough – but instead placed the second bag in Sam's lap and removed the full bag; smiling at its contents before carefully settling it into the nearby cooler.

Sam swallowed, feeling thirsty and tired; his eyes lazily tracking his blood as it freely flowed into the second bag; the clear plastic filling with bright red liquid.

The Alpha Vamp stared intently at the young hunter. "Your blood pressure is falling."

Sam snorted. "Big surprise," he replied dryly and closed his eyes; once again squeezing the amulet in his left hand for strength and comfort; a tactile reminder of why he was doing this, of _who_ he was doing it for; reminded of the all times he had clung to the amulet as a child when he was scared or hurt or sick.

Because to Sam, the amulet had always represented the one person who could fix any of that – fear or injury or illness...or anything else; Dean could always make anything right just by _being there_.

But now...

_You are well and truly on your own._

Sam clenched his jaw – hating how those words continuously looped in his head – and then opened his eyes when he heard the Alpha Vamp move; blinking several times as he realized his vision was fuzzy.

Glancing down at the almost-full bag in his lap, Sam realized why – he had lost nearly two pints of blood...and the spell hadn't even started yet.

Sam sighed and swallowed against his dry throat.

Across the room, the Alpha visually compared two silver bowls sitting on one of the end tables and grabbed the larger of the two; undoubtedly judging it as better suited to hold the large amount of blood that was required for the spell.

Wordlessly, the Alpha Vamp crossed back to Sam; positioning the bowl on the floor beneath the young hunter's arm before squatting and slicing his own wrist with his long, curved fingernail; his expression bored as he watched his blood drip into the bowl.

Sam watched as well, shifting in the chair; feeling restless and strangely disconnected...and so incredibly thirsty.

"Be still," the Alpha Vamp commanded, wiping his thumb across his wrist as he stood.

Sam glared, glancing at the blood bag in his lap and then at the Alpha. "You have enough," he told the vampire, surprised by how weak his voice sounded.

"Almost," the Alpha Vamp countered and leaned casually against the arm of one of the nearby sofas as he waited for the bag to completely fill.

Sam shifted again and closed his eyes; squeezing the amulet and trying not to think about how drained he felt; about how even worse he would feel once the spell began.

After several minutes, Sam startled – his eyes snapping open – as he felt the medical tape snatched from his skin, the needle tugged loose, and the tourniquet untied from his bicep.

The Alpha Vamp then collected the second full blood bag from Sam's lap and stored it in the cooler with the first bag.

Sam heard the vampire moving around behind him as he stared at his arm; his skin already coated with a slick sheen of red as his blood continued to flow from his punctured artery.

"Now that payment is secure..." the Alpha Vamp began, suddenly appearing in front of Sam with a small knife in hand. "We will begin the spell to find your brother."

Sam nodded, the movement feeling jerky and uncoordinated; like his head was too heavy for his neck to support.

The Alpha glanced meaningfully at Sam's fisted left hand.

Sam lazily tracked the vampire's gaze, belatedly realizing what the Alpha wanted – the amulet.

There was a beat of silence.

The Alpha Vamp sighed. "Sam..."

"Yeah," Sam responded, his fingers lethargically uncurling their hold on the amulet; his palm imprinted with the shape of the gold charm from how long and from how tightly he had been holding it.

The Alpha untangled the black cord from Sam's fingers and then lifted the amulet; examining it closely. "Hard to believe this ugly trinket possesses so much power," he commented before dropping it in the bowl on the floor; the charm clinking against the silver, blood-covered bottom.

Sam blinked drowsily, staring at the knife the Alpha held. "What are you doin' with 'at?"

The Alpha Vamp arched an eyebrow at Sam's slightly slurred voice; noting the young hunter's pale skin and his noticeably weakened, rapid pulse thrumming in his ears; surprised that such an abnormally large human would feel the effects of blood loss so quickly.

Sam shifted, his head lolling on the back of the chair. "What – "

"I heard you the first time," the Alpha interrupted and then stepped closer to Sam, his eyes scanning the young hunter's crimson-stained skin; Sam's blood merely trickling from his arm into the bowl below. "We need better flow," the vampire informed and promptly dug the knife's sharp tip into Sam's flesh; slicing a line from inner elbow to wrist.

Sam cried out in surprise and pain; weakly writhing in the chair in which he was securely strapped.

"Be still," the Alpha Vamp reminded sharply. "The more you struggle – "

"– the faster...I'll...bleed out," Sam finished breathlessly and nodded that he understood.

"Ah, you were listening..." the Alpha praised and ran his finger along the edge of the knife's blade; collecting remnants of Sam's blood and then sticking his finger in his mouth.

Sam swallowed, feeling nauseous; both from the blood loss and from watching a vampire sample his blood.

"Just as I said..." the Alpha Vamp confirmed and nodded approvingly. "Aged AB negative with a delicious hint of all things Sam Winchester."

Sam swallowed again; feeling too lightheaded...too tired...too nauseous...too thirsty...and entirely too close to unconsciousness to speak.

The Alpha Vamp stared at the young hunter; smiling as he watched Sam's blood flow into the bowl on the floor as if a faucet had been turned on within Sam's arm.

The vampire peered into the bowl, noticing that the amulet was no longer visible; the black cord and gold charm having disappeared beneath the crimson flood.

"Showtime," the Alpha remarked and began reciting words he had known for centuries but had never said aloud.

Sam shifted weakly in the chair; somewhat thankful that the straps were indeed holding him up. He was vaguely aware of the Alpha Vamp speaking...but too tired to care what he was saying; instead watching in detached fascination as blood flowed from the gaping wound in his arm.

Several seconds later, the Alpha seemed to be finished with the spoken part of the spell and glanced at Sam.

Sam stared back; his body slouched in the chair; his blinks becoming longer while his pulse grew weaker; his skin pale and gray and covered with a thin sheen of clammy sweat.

"Last words?" the Alpha Vamp asked, collecting his suit jacket from the back of the sofa along with the nearby cooler containing two pints of Sam's blood.

"Not for you," Sam whispered; his voice hoarse and quiet.

The Alpha chuckled at Sam's response; a defiant Winchester until the end. "I like you Sam," he told the young hunter. "And I wish you well. Perhaps you'll last long enough to see your brother one last time."

"Or maybe...I'll last...longer...than that," Sam replied, shifting uncomfortably in the chair as his body continued to slip further down in the seat.

The Alpha Vamp shrugged. "Maybe," he agreed, his expression indicating how little he believed that possibility. "Either way, I will not be present. I do not wish to be in the path of Dean Winchester after he sees your condition."

Sam laughed weakly at the wisdom of that decision and then coughed. "S-smart."

Because if the spell really did work and Dean made it back from Purgatory, he was going to be _pissed_ at the rough shape Sam was in.

The Alpha nodded his agreement; his gaze lingering on the dying hunter – a mixture of respectful fondness and reluctant admiration for a kid willing to sacrifice himself for his brother...no matter the cost.

"You know..." the Alpha Vamp commented casually as he crossed to the door. "Your intention was to rescue Dean, but you may be surprised who else you rescue. After all, a first-line blood relative is a first-line blood relative."

Sam blinked in confusion; barely hearing the Alpha's voice over the ringing in his ears. "Wh-what?"

The Alpha quirked a knowing smile. "You'll see," he replied cryptically and opened the door; disappearing into the hall.

Sam watched him go, frowning at the vampire's parting words; knowing he should try to decipher what the Alpha Vamp meant...but already forgetting what he had even said.

"Huh," Sam mused breathlessly in the silence of the small room; feeling his sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead and wondering if the room was really getting darker...or if it was just him.

Either way, black splotches continued to crowd the edges of his vision, threatening unconsciousness.

Sam blinked rapidly, trying to rouse himself but only succeeding in making himself dizzier than he already was; his efforts to sit up straighter in the chair failing as his body refused to cooperate; the straps across his chest making it harder to breathe.

Sam swallowed – his throat drier than he could ever remember it being – and glanced at his right arm; his blood still flowing freely into the bowl on the floor; splattering on the rug, the chair, his jeans.

"Dean..." Sam whispered; knowing his brother wasn't there but somehow drawing comfort in calling for him.

Seconds passed; Sam's shallow, wheezed breaths filling the silence of the room along with the rhythmic, continuous drip of his blood as it reached the bowl's edge and began to spill over its silver rim; the rug beneath it freshly soaked and stained with bright red.

Sam sighed – an exhausted whimper – and then closed his eyes. "D'n..." he called again, feeling warm tears slip through his lashes before allowing the encroaching darkness to claim him...and then not feeling anything at all.

* * *

_**TBC**_

**Referenced Artwork**:

_St. Michael Killing the Dragon_ by Josse Lieferinxe

_Dante And Virgil In Hell_ by William-Adolphe Bouguereau


	4. Chapter 4

They were almost back at camp when Dean heard it; so quiet he would have missed it if he had not been tuned to it for most of his life – Sam's voice calling his name.

On instinct, Dean immediately stopped and turned. "Sammy..." he called back; saying his brother's name before he could stop himself; his eyes scanning every inch that he could see of Purgatory's moonlit forest.

But Sam wasn't there...and only silence answered.

Dean narrowed his eyes. Because although he knew that Sam was not with him; and thus did not expect to see Sam among the rows of silhouetted trees...he also knew what he had heard – his little brother calling for him.

And the big brother in him could not ignore that.

"Sam..." Dean called again in the darkness, taking a step back toward the tree line in the distance; unnerved by how close Sam's voice had sounded; concerned by how weak.

Because Sam only called for him in that whispered, slurred tone when the kid was either sick or injured and hovering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Dean swallowed at the implications; knowing something was horribly wrong with his brother in that sixth sense way he and Sam had always shared.

"Sammy..." Dean called once more, only louder; his heart pounding with the sudden need to be with his brother _right fucking now_.

"Dean..."

Dean turned his head in the direction of John's harsh whisper but did not look behind him; his focus still on the tree line. "Sam!"

"Dean..." John said again; his tone indicating he did not appreciate being ignored...and did not approve of Dean announcing their precise location to any of Purgatory's creatures that could be stalking them in the darkness as they hiked back to camp.

Dean glanced at his father as John approached – not surprised by his dad's pissed expression – and then refocused on the clearing beyond the line of trees from which they had just come.

"Why don't you send up a fucking Bat-signal? Jesus..." John hissed and shook his head in annoyed disapproval as he readjusted his grip on his bow. "I thought I taught you better than that..."

"I heard Sam," Dean answered, his tone sharp and distracted; because nothing – certainly not John's opinion or his expectations – mattered beyond that.

John scowled as though he thought Dean was experiencing some kind of delayed shock and followed his son's gaze. "Sam's not here."

"I know that," Dean snapped, his entire body humming with adrenaline. "But I _heard him_."

"I'm not saying you didn't," John allowed; his trained eyes suspiciously crawling over every nook of the surrounding forest. "But there are creatures here that can mimic any sound. And what better way to lure you in their direction than to mimic the sound of Sam's voice..."

Dean cut his eyes at his father. "I would know the difference."

John nodded. "I know you would," he agreed, having forgotten how fierce Dean could be when the issue involved Sam. "But regardless of what you heard, your brother is not here. So I say we get our asses back to camp and figure this out from there. It's not safe out here in the open, especially with you yelling like a damn banshee."

Dean scowled at the term usually reserved for describing hysterical women.

Without further comment, John turned and walked back in the direction he was originally headed before Dean had stopped.

Dean hesitated, watching his father go before glancing back over his shoulder at the tree line; feeling his heart beat faster when he suddenly detected the unmistakable scent of blood; knowing without a doubt that it was _Sam's_ blood.

Dean clenched his jaw against the renewed urgency that surged through him; his mind instantly overcrowding with worst-case scenarios and with the startlingly real image of Sam – broken and alone – bleeding out at an alarmingly rapid rate.

"Dean..." John called from behind.

Dean glanced at his father.

"_Now_," John growled – a follow-up order to his earlier order about heading back to camp – and held Dean's gaze; as if he was willing submission from his oldest.

Dean glared – wondering if his dad knew he wasn't a kid anymore – but did as he was told; sighing harshly as he gave one last look to the tree line and then crossed to John. "I need to get back to Sam."

"And I need you to keep your head in the game," John returned, pinning Dean with a hard stare as his son approached. "I know you're worried about your brother...and I am, too. But..." He paused, pulling one of the handmade arrows from the quiver still strapped to his back and handing it to his oldest. "We can't help Sam if we get killed out here. So I need you to get your head out of your ass and keep your eyes forward, your ears open, and your aim deadly. You hear me?"

Dean begrudgingly nodded, knowing John was right, and took the offered arrow; hoping they wouldn't run into trouble before they made it back to camp. Because while he still considered himself to be a badass, Dean did not relish the idea of hand-to-hand combat with any of Purgatory's inhabitants...which is what would happen if he was expected to use only an arrow to defend himself.

John quirked a smile, knowing Dean's thoughts. "Stay close," he advised and roughly patted his son's shoulder before ducking a low-hanging tree branch and leading the way back to camp.

Dean glanced again at the tree line – an unshakeable feeling that Sam was closer than he even knew – and reluctantly followed behind John; both hunters moving soundlessly through the moonlit forest.

As they walked, Dean's eyes continuously scanned from left to right; his body tense with anticipation for any potential threats; his hand cramping from how tightly he held the arrow; and his mind buzzing with possibilities about Sam.

Had the kid been injured in a solo hunt? Was that why Dean had been able to smell his brother's blood even in Purgatory? Had Sam been shot...stabbed...sacrificed on some supernatural altar while god-knows-what tortured him in his last moments?

Or maybe Sam had found a way to bring Dean back – a spell of some sort – and it had gone horribly wrong? In his rush, had Sam gotten sloppy and had thus cut himself too deeply...and in his resulting panic, didn't know how to stop the bleeding...and was now paying the price?

Or had Sam been injured in something as mundane as a car accident? Was his little brother bleeding out on the side of a road somewhere with nothing but the crumpled remains of the Impala to comfort him?

Dean swallowed at the sudden image of Sam dying alone and bloody; of calling for him...of wanting, _needing_ him...and him not being there.

Dean clenched his jaw and shook his head against that possibility; because _no fucking way _was that happening. He was going to find his own way out of Purgatory and get back to Sam before it was too late. He was going to save Sam from whatever mess Sam had gotten himself into because that's what Dean did – he took care of Sam. And he was pretty damn good at it, too.

Dean nodded; always feeling more like himself once he had a plan.

But he was so focused on thoughts about Sam that Dean didn't realize John had stopped in front of him; noticing his dad's right-angled arm and closed fist – the classic nonverbal sign for "halt" – merely seconds before smacking into John's back.

"Shit," Dean hissed, stumbling to the side of John and then shrugging apologetically as John glanced over his shoulder.

John stared at his oldest and then shook his head in that amused, irritated way that parents did before turning away from Dean; staring straight ahead into the darkness.

Dean arched an eyebrow, angling around John for a better view but seeing nothing...except maybe the faintest hint of a glowing fire in the distance.

"Camp?" Dean whispered, feeling unexpectedly anxious; freshly wondering just who the hell was waiting there and how many familiar faces he would recognize once they arrived.

John nodded. "Camp," he confirmed quietly and then handed his bow to Dean before clasping his hands – right palm against left – and raised them to his mouth; lightly blowing into the space created between his thumbs and creating a sound that remarkably resembled that of a dove.

Dean smiled fondly; remembering when John had taught him and Sam how to do that – though Sam had never quite mastered the trick – and how they would sometimes use the familiar birdcall to locate each other during hunts.

John repeated the call twice more; the distinctive sound floating through the darkness and presumably being heard back at camp.

There was a beat of silence before the call was returned; its volume diminished by the distance it traveled, but its tone unmistakable – the lilting, almost comforting sound of a dove.

John smiled and glanced at Dean. "All's clear," he informed as he took back his bow from his oldest and started walking in the direction from which the sound had come. "But still stay close. We're not safe until we're back at camp."

Dean nodded his understanding, staring at the barely visible orange glow of what had to be a fire. "A dove?" he asked, readjusting his grip on the arrow he still held and following behind John; knowing his dad would hear the full question in just those two words.

"Even down here, a dove represents peace," John explained, ducking a tree branch. "And because of that, its call is the only sound no creature here can imitate. So if we hear the call of a dove, then we know it's one of us...and not one of them." He paused and then chuckled good-naturedly. "Plus, it's the only sound all of us knew how to make."

Dean smiled, thinking how the procedure – calling and then waiting for an answering call to identify your own – was like that of the Jets' whistle in _West Side Story..._and then shook his head as he pictured Sam's pleased smirk at Dean making the connection.

"Maybe you'll learn something..." Sam had told Dean that one night the kid had made his big brother watch the classic musical on the small motel television.

"Like what?" Dean had asked incredulously; had been pissed that he was missing a marathon of Clint Eastwood movies because Sam had won the rock-paper-scissors showdown...again. "How to twirl in the street?"

Sam had immediately bitchfaced him.

Dean had glared back. "They look like they're about to have a freakin' dance-off, Sam, not a rumble."

Sam had huffed his annoyance but had said nothing.

Dean had rolled his eyes but had watched the stupid movie...and then had been surprised by how emotional he had felt by the end. Because what had happened to Tony? That shit wasn't right. Tony had been a good kid...

Dean blinked as the memory faded; reminded of another good kid who seemed to attract bad shit – his Sammy – and once again felt a surge of urgency to get back to his little brother.

Dean sighed. "Are we almost there?" he asked, feeling like a five-year old on a long car trip.

"Almost," John replied, continuing to look straight ahead.

Dean nodded, because he could see the fire growing brighter and larger as they drew closer to camp. "Who's gonna be there?" he further questioned; now feeling like a teenager en route to a party.

Dean rolled his eyes at himself, knowing John was probably doing the same.

But John said nothing; only continued to lead the way to camp.

Dean narrowed his eyes; _hating it_ when John was secretive and figuring that was where Sam had gotten the same tendency.

"Do you hear me or what?" Dean snapped before he could stop himself; momentarily forgetting that he was talking to his dad...not his brother.

John paused mid-stride and turned, arching an eyebrow as he stared at Dean.

Dean swallowed, strangely fascinated that while he was now over 30-years old, John could still unnerve him with that look.

John held Dean's gaze; nonverbally reminding his oldest just who was in charge here before he started walking again.

Dean sighed and followed behind; loving his dad but realizing he hadn't missed his old man's hard-assed way of doing things and freshly appreciated his relationship with Sam.

Dean felt his stomach clench as he thought about his brother and remembered hearing Sam's whispered voice back at the tree line; remembered smelling the kid's blood as if Sam had been bleeding right beside him.

_Hang on, Sammy, _Dean silently urged and found that he didn't care anymore about who was back at camp because he wouldn't be staying long – he had a kid brother to save.

Dean nodded in agreement with himself as the fire crackled through the forest; its flames casting shadows on the trees and clearly marking the camp's location.

"Why the fire?" Dean asked his father as they finally approached the camp's edge; having been drilled by John over the years that fire in the open woods was always a last resort since it only attracted unwanted attention.

John snorted. "Doesn't much matter here," he told his oldest. "Everything in Purgatory already knows where we are, so we might as well have a little extra light and warmth. Plus, turns out if you soak the wood in holy water...then dry it out and light it up...you've got an instant supernatural repellant in the smoke and ash that burns off."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

John nodded. "Damnedest thing," he commented and shook his head. "Don't know why we never tried that before – and maybe it doesn't even work topside – but it sure as hell works here and has saved our asses more than once. We can light the fires around the campsite to keep the creatures at bay...and then we usually take torches with us out on hunts to keep them back until we're ready to make our move."

"You don't have a torch now," Dean observed, sidestepping a massive tree branch on the leaf-covered ground.

"I don't need one...because I'm a badass," John replied and then cocked a grin at his oldest.

Dean laughed. "Makes sense. Like father, like son..."

John laughed as well as Dean pointed between them and then nodded proudly.

A companionable silence settled as they continued to walk and then Dean stopped when John did; gazing in the same direction as his father – toward a cave on the far side of the camp area.

"That it?"

"Yep," John confirmed, taking the arrow from Dean's grasp and adding it back to his quiver. "Ready?"

Dean shrugged. "As I'll ever be..." he responded dryly.

John chuckled. "Alright then. Let's do this..." he replied and patted his son's shoulder as they walked forward; passing the fire and going deeper into the camp. "The gang's all here..." he warned good-naturedly as they approached the cave's entrance.

Dean arched an eyebrow – wondering how many "all" would turn out to be – and then received his answer as he and John ducked into the cave; the large space warmed and illuminated by a smaller fire, which casted multiple shadows on the damp stone walls.

Dean swallowed and stared speechlessly at the crowd within the cave although none of them yet saw him; their backs to the entrance as they gathered around a seated figure holding what looked like a laptop; its screen glowing with flashing colors and emitting rhythmic beeps.

Dean smiled; because although it had been a few years since he had seen it, he would have recognized that mullet anywhere.

"Ash?" Dean called and then waited for confirmation.

In the next instant, the entire group turned to look at him; familiar faces staring at him with varying degrees of relief and regret.

And seated in the center – just as Dean had suspected – was Ash.

"Buenos días, compadre," Ash greeted in that casual way he had; like no matter where he was, it was all good.

Dean laughed and shook his head. "What the hell, man?" he asked Ash. "The last time Sam and I saw you, you were – "

" – in Heaven," Ash finished and nodded. "I know. But that was before the angels got pissed and kicked me out."

Dean scowled. "What?"

Ash shrugged. "Hell if I know, man. One minute I was living it up in Ash Land...and the next, my ass is stuck down here."

"We're _all_ stuck down here," a raspy voice corrected. "Seems your angel buddies didn't like Cas playing God or him doing his impression of Scarface up in Heaven," the voice elaborated. "And they don't seem to like you much, either."

Dean glanced at Ellen as she spoke and then at Jo standing beside her.

Jo smiled but said nothing.

Dean forced a smile in return – feeling strangely awkward, given what had happened between he and Jo the last time they had seen each other – and then refocused on Ellen.

"The feeling's mutual," Dean told her, referring to the angels' opinion of him...and his opinion of them. "But what does that have to do with this?" he asked, motioning vaguely toward the familiar group standing in the middle of the cave.

Ellen sighed in annoyance at being made to explain what she viewed as obvious. "You're friends with Cas..."

At the cave's entrance, John snorted his disgusted disapproval. "...which is a fucking joke," he growled. "After everything he's done to _Sam..._after everything he's done to _you_?"

Dean glanced at his dad but did not respond – not needing the extra guilt and having no words to explain the choices that had been made or why things had happened the way they had...because even he didn't understand.

There was a beat of awkward silence before Dean looked back at Ellen.

Ellen sighed again. "...and we're friends with you," she continued in her explanation as to why the hunters were kicked out of Heaven and dumped into Purgatory.

Dean arched an eyebrow. "_That's_ why you're down here...because of your connection with me?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Ellen advised; equal parts amusement and snark in her tone. "Our association with Winchesters is only part of why we're down here. The angels have never liked that some hunters – or the people who helped hunters," she added, glancing at Ash, "made it to the other side. And after the mess with Cas and all the other cluster fucks over the past few years..." She shrugged. "I guess they finally had the perfect excuse to kick our asses downstairs."

"Only not _all_ the way downstairs," another familiar voice corrected, referring to Hell. "The angels are powerful bastards but apparently not _that_ powerful. This is kinda like their holding cell for us."

Dean blinked as he realized who was speaking. "Annie?" he said, feeling instantly awkward at seeing his one night stand standing beside Ellen and noticing a remarkable resemblance between the two older women.

"You know my sister?" Ellen asked, sounding both surprised and suspicious as she glanced from Dean to Annie.

"Your..." Dean swallowed at the news; feeling a wave of physical sickness wash over him. "Your sister?" He pinned Annie with a hard stare. "I didn't know you had a sister."

Annie shrugged; a smile playing on her lips. "You never asked."

Ellen narrowed her eyes at the implication of Dean and Annie's history together as Jo laughed softly.

Another laugh joined the mix, and Dean glanced in its direction. "Caleb?" he asked, amazed by how everyone looked the exact same as they had the last time he had seen them; the timelessness of Purgatory having halted aging and having prevented any other indications of time passing...like hair or beard growth.

Caleb nodded. "Some things never change with you...huh, Ace?" he teased dryly, referring to Dean's ways with the opposite sex, and crossed to John's oldest; roughly slapping Dean on his back in that way men show affection to each other.

Dean shrugged – neither denying nor confirming that anything had ever happened between him and Ellen's sister – and quickly changed the subject. "Who else is down here?"

No one spoke; a strange expression crossing everyone's faces as they glanced at each other before they all turned their attention to John.

Per usual, John did not seem fazed; casually unstrapping the quiver from his back before crossing to Dean.

"Dad?" Dean prompted.

John shrugged. "There's a few more in the back," he informed, nodding toward the rear of the cave. "And then there's some out on other hunts right now...like Travis and Jefferson and a few others I'm not sure you ever met."

Dean nodded, unable to shake the feeling that John was purposefully omitting names from the roster of who was in Purgatory. "Who else?"

John smiled; a classic nonverbal dodge. "We'll get to that," he assured.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he begrudgingly allowed and then sighed, glancing around the cave.

"Looking for Cas?" Ellen asked, her tone unreadable.

Dean cut his eyes in her direction. "No," he snapped, wishing they would all get off his ass about that issue.

"Good," John returned sharply. "Because he's not here."

"Where is he?" Dean questioned, his gaze still roaming the interior of the cave; less concerned about Cas's whereabouts and more interested in what – or _who_ – was in the deeper parts of the cave.

"Hard to say," Ash answered. "He showed up onscreen when you both fell into Purgatory, but then like the other angels...he just disappeared."

"And I doubt we'll see him again," Ellen commented under her breath.

"Onscreen?" Dean echoed, staring at the laptop Ash held and wondering what other angels – Gabriel, Balthazar? – had ever been to Purgatory.

Ash nodded. "Onscreen," he repeated and then continued. "I figure the angels in charge of Heaven now have a special holding cell for angels who went rogue or otherwise kicked their asses. And I bet there's banjo music playing there..." he added suggestively and shuddered dramatically; not needing to elaborate on what kind of experiences awaited traitors of Heaven.

Dean frowned, digesting that information, and then glanced to the right as a familiar voice called out his name; smiling as he saw Rufus emerge from the shadows – the older hunter having apparently been in the deeper part of the cave when Dean had first arrived, judging by the surprise on Rufus's face.

"Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit..." Rufus drawled, smiling as he came toward Dean. "Good to see you again," he told John's oldest, his tone genuine.

Dean nodded. "You too...I guess," he replied, because the circumstances of their reunion certainly sucked.

Rufus smiled. "Good thing you went to get him," he told the oldest Winchester.

John nodded as he stood beside Dean.

Dean narrowed his eyes, reminded of an earlier question he had. "How did you know it was me?" he asked his father.

"We have ways," John replied and glanced at Ash.

Rufus nodded. "Guess your little video game works after all," he remarked over his shoulder to Ash.

Ash pulled a face; a classic, nonverbal "bitch, please."

Dean chuckled but then arched an eyebrow. "Video game?"

"It's not a video game," Ash corrected and shook his head in that way extremely smart people do when dealing with everybody else.

"Well, whatever the hell it is, it seems to work," Rufus replied.

"Of course it does," Ash agreed, flipping the fringe of his mullet off his shoulder. "I'm a fucking genius."

Ellen and Annie groaned in unison as Jo rolled her eyes.

Dean chuckled, crossing to get a better look at the laptop Ash held; remembering John's earlier comment alluding to them having a laptop and not surprised that the self-proclaimed Dr. Badass had fallen into Purgatory with his computer.

"What is it?" Dean asked, squinting at the screen. "Something like you had rigged up in Heaven?"

"Exact-a-mundo," Ash responded; his fingers a blur as he typed several different codes on the keyboard and then leaned back, allowing Dean a clearer view of the screen.

Dean watched as several clusters of different colored dots moved on the black background. "What is this? Like a GPS or something?"

"That's exactly what it is," John confirmed, crossing to join the rest of the group now huddled around Ash and the laptop.

"Ash developed a system that senses the different levels of..." Ellen's voice faded as she tried to remember. "What did you call it?"

"Supernatural mojo," Ash answered and continued explaining his invention. "It's just a simple series of logarithms that detects the subtle differences in paranormal essence that each Purgatory creature emits."

"Which is fancy talk for his little video game picking up the fuglies' stink and then letting us know where they are," Rufus rephrased.

"So we can go kill 'em," Caleb finished, nodding approvingly; because they all knew that was the best part.

"Get them before they get us," Rufus added.

"Damn straight," Caleb agreed and bumped fists with the older hunter.

Dean quirked a smile; strangely comforted that it seemed some things never changed – a hunter was always hunting no matter where he...or she...ended up.

"Of course..." Ellen began. "Not everything here needs killin'."

Dean arched a questioning eyebrow.

"Like you," Ellen pointed out and then smiled.

"Okay," Dean allowed and then shook his head, waiting for further explanation.

Jo took the cue. "When the system senses a creature, it assigns that creature either a color or a sound," she told Dean, glancing between him and the computer balanced on Ash's lap. "If it has never left Purgatory, it shows up as a color."

"Right," Annie agreed. "But if it _has_ left Purgatory and for whatever reason got sent back home, it's identified by a sound...a beep or chirp or whatever."

John nodded and pointed at the laptop's screen. "So, right now we're looking at a pack of Rugaroos over here...a pack of werewolves here...a couple of ghouls up here...and looks like a lone Shtriga down here."

"Huh," Dean mused, amazed by the remarkably sophisticated system his fellow hunters had developed to help them do their jobs...even in Purgatory.

"But..." Ellen continued. "If it's not supernatural...if it's human...then it looks like an 'X'."

Ash hit a couple keystrokes and called forth a different view; the screen blanking out before flashing a cluster of white X's on the black screen; each having a single white letter over it...except for the lone red X.

"This shows this part of the cave – there's other parts deeper back – and that's you," Ash clarified, glancing at Dean and then pointing to the red X. "And that's me..." he further explained, pointing to the X with an 'A' over it before pointing to the other surrounding X's. "And that's Jo, Ellen..." his voice faded. "You get the picture."

Dean nodded. "But how did you know that red X was me and not some other person?"

"We just did," John replied cryptically before anyone else could answer.

Dean glanced at his father and then back at Ash. "And how did you know Cas fell down here with me?"

"Because there's a different symbol for angels," Ash responded, striking a few keys and calling forth another view of a blank screen. "This is from earlier out at the tree line. Watch..."

Dean did, blinking as a red X – presumably himself – suddenly appeared in the bottom left corner of the screen joined by...

Dean tilted his head at the shape and chuckled. "Is that a – "

"Yep," Ash confirmed, clearly proud of how clever he thought he was. "My computer program, so my symbols...and angels are dicks."

Dean shook his head, appreciating the Ash-flavored humor.

"Get it?" Ash asked expectantly.

"Yeah," Dean replied dryly.

Caleb chuckled.

"Anyway..." Ellen sighed, rolling her eyes. "Keep watching the screen."

In the next instant, several clusters of different colored dots populated the black background, surrounding Dean's flashing red X and Cas's...other shape; the dots clearly stalking the new arrivals mere seconds before Cas disappeared and John's white X approached from the upper right corner of the screen.

"Kicking ass and taking names...huh, John?" Caleb asked appreciatively as they watched the dots indicating the demonic werewolves disappear in short order.

John nodded but said nothing.

"Wow," Dean commented after the sequence was over – amazed at the sophisticated tracking system – and then watched as Ash typed the command to switch from that view of earlier in the forest to the view of the cave they were currently in.

Ash typed another code and transformed the red flashing X to a white X with a 'D' over it.

"Now you're on our books and officially a resident of Purgatory," Ash informed. "Welcome..." he further greeted and then switched the laptop's view back to Purgatory surveillance.

"Yeah..." Caleb added. "Welcome to the one place where your past literally comes back to bite you in the ass."

Dean nodded. Because he could only imagine the number of supernatural creatures he had killed over the years that would love to cross paths with him now that he was on their home turf.

"Well..." Rufus sighed, grabbing his own quiver of arrows from the cave's corner and strapping it to his back. "I know time doesn't exist down here, but I sure ain't gettin' any younger. We going or what?" he asked, motioning toward the laptop's screen still tracking the various monsters.

"I am," Caleb immediately answered and grabbed his quiver as well.

Rufus glanced meaningfully at Ellen, Jo, and Annie. "Ladies?"

The women looked at each other; a silent conversation passing among them.

"We'll go north," Ellen announced, nodding at Jo to distribute their quivers.

"Guess we'll go south, then..." Rufus reasoned.

"Sounds good," Caleb agreed. "Then we'll head east, and you three can head west. Then we'll meet back here and regroup."

The women nodded.

Jo glanced at Dean. "Are you coming, too?"

"No," Dean and John answered in unison and then glanced at each other; father and oldest son as in sync as ever.

An expression of disappointment passed over Jo's face, but she nodded her understanding as she handed quivers to her mom and aunt before strapping hers on her back. "Guess we'll see you later, then..."

"Guess so," Dean agreed, though he hoped that wasn't true; hoped he would figure a way out of Purgatory and back to Sam before the hunting party returned to camp.

Because while he had enjoyed seeing his fellow hunters again – even under these circumstances – Dean still had only one priority...getting back to Sam; getting back to the little brother who needed him.

John glanced at his oldest, knowing Dean's thoughts, and then focused his attention on the group of hunters preparing to depart the cave. "Be safe out there," he warned, watching as they made final adjustments to their quivers and then lit their torches at the crackling fire.

"Will do," Rufus promised and lingered at the cave's entrance; allowing the others to exit before approaching John and glancing meaningfully toward the deeper parts of the cave.

John followed his gaze, noticing that Dean was watching their exchange.

Rufus noticed as well and lowered his voice before speaking. "There's been some..." He paused, obviously searching for the right cryptic word. "..._developments_ in the situation we were monitoring before you left."

John nodded, not needing further details. "I figured," he replied; because that situation had not been far from his mind since he had left earlier and had partially fueled his urgency to get back to camp with Dean. "We'll check on it," he told his fellow hunter.

"Do it soon," Rufus urged and then glanced once more at Dean before he exited the cave; joining Caleb in the yard and heading south as the women had already left camp, northbound.

There was a beat of silence; the hunters' voices fading in the distance as they walked deeper into Purgatory's moonlit forest.

Dean stared at his dad; feeling a mix of dread and anger. Because he would bet money that whatever Rufus had just confided to John had something to do with Sam...and that John had probably known about it this entire time.

"What was that about?" Dean demanded; his tone as icy as his expression.

John stared at his son but did not have time to answer as quickly approaching footsteps echoed through the cave.

"John..." a voice called out, breathless in its hurry.

Dean's eyes widened in instant recognition even before she came into view.

"Thank god you're back," Mary gushed to John as she rounded the cave's bend and then froze as she realized who was standing beside her husband.

Mother and son stared speechlessly at each other.

"Dean?" Mary called, as if she didn't believe what she was seeing. "Oh my god..." she whispered and then crossed to her son; holding Dean's face between her hands; her gaze sweeping over every inch of him. "Are you okay?"

Dean speechlessly stared at her; finding it strange that the first thing he noticed was that his mother no longer wore the white blood-stained nightgown she had died in but was wearing boots, jeans, and a fitted jacket over a white top; looking every bit the hunter she was.

Had Ellen or Jo or Annie somehow fallen into Purgatory with extra clothes that just happened to fit his mother?

"Dean..." Mary called again; her tone and expression concerned.

Dean blinked at the sound of her voice – realizing it really didn't matter what his mother was wearing...because at least she was _here_ – and continued to stare at her; taking in her blue eyes and her blond hair that framed her face and lightly brushed her shoulders.

Mary's frowned deepened at Dean's prolonged silence. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean responded automatically even as his heart hammered in his chest.

Mary smiled – an expression of thankful relief – and wrapped her son in a hug; closing her eyes in maternal bliss at finally being able to do what she had missed so much...something as simple as holding and loving her children.

Dean stood still; hesitant in returning his mother's hug as his mind buzzed.

"Good news about Purgatory..." Ash commented to Dean as he watched the scene unfold. "I found your folks."

Dean snorted at the obvious statement as Ash pointed to John still standing beside him and then at Mary as she continued to hug him; remembering how Ash had reported several years ago in Heaven that he hadn't been able to find either John or Mary in that realm in the sky.

Dean inhaled shakily and finally hugged his mother back; allowing himself the momentary luxury of giving and receiving love – the unconditional kind that only his mother and Sam had ever given him.

"Oh, Dean..." Mary sighed and lightly pushed back from her son; her gaze still sweeping over him. "Thank god your father found you when he did," she praised and smiled at John before glancing back at Dean. "You have no idea how many hunters are killed within moments of arriving here."

Dean nodded; because he could imagine, given how close he had come to being devoured by those demonic werewolves.

Mary smiled, cupping Dean's jaw affectionately before pulling away from her son and turning to John; tucking her blond hair behind her ear. "Does he know?"

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Know what?"

John sighed and shook his head.

Mary frowned her disapproval. "John..."

"Know what?" Dean repeated; his tone sharp as his earlier feeling returned – the feeling that whatever secret was being kept had something to do with Sam...and that he was the only one who didn't know about it.

Dean clenched his jaw; freshly pissed and worried as his gaze flickered between his parents; his mind once again flashing images of a bloody little brother dying alone while he helplessly called for Dean.

Dean swallowed; remembering how he had indeed heard Sam's voice back at the tree line at the edge of Purgatory's forest; how he had smelled the kid's blood.

And now there was reason to believe that both Mary and John – and the whole damn camp, for that matter – knew something about Sam that Dean didn't?

No.

_Hell no._

"Tell me," Dean demanded; his tone allowing no room for argument.

Mary glared at John in silent reprimand for his stalling in delivering the news about their youngest and then nodded at Dean. "I will," she quietly soothed her oldest and then sighed as she held Dean's gaze as if she didn't know where to begin. "But first...follow me," she told Dean and disappeared into the shadows as she rounded the bend and led the way deeper into the cave.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of his voice woke him.

Which was not unusual since Dean's voice was typically the first voice Sam would hear when he awoke; whether from sleep or sickness or injury...or from purposefully bleeding out.

Sam blinked owlishly; uncertain what Dean had said just now...but knowing he had heard his brother's voice like a familiar echo in the distance.

Sam swallowed against his dry throat; wanting to speak, to call back to Dean but finding it was too much effort.

Everything was too much effort.

_Breathing_ was too much effort, especially with how he was now slumped in the chair; the leather straps impossibly tight across his chest and allowing only shallow breaths.

Or maybe the shortness of breath was caused by the drastic blood loss.

Or maybe it was caused by both the straps _and_ the blood loss.

Or maybe...

Sam swallowed again; not knowing...not caring...and not even able to remember what he was just thinking about even as he attempted another shallow breath and allowed his eyes to dip closed.

But then he heard it once more – Dean's voice.

Sam blinked; again not able to decipher his brother's words but recognizing Dean's tone as insistent and pissed; the kind of tone Dean used when he wanted information...and he wanted it _right fucking now_.

A ghost of a smile passed over Sam's face; strangely comforted by the image of his brother giving somebody hell and wondering if Dean was doing so because of him.

He probably was.

Sam's weak smile lingered as his eyes lazily wandered around the room; vaguely remembering where he was – the Alpha's house; who he was with – no one; what had happened – the blood spell; and why – _because of Dean_.

Sam swallowed, again feeling marginally more alert at the thought of his brother, and tried to remember where Dean was; not that it mattered. Because wherever Dean was, he wasn't with Sam...and _that's_ what mattered; that's why it was worth doing anything to get Dean back...including Sam allowing himself to be tied to a chair by an Alpha Vamp and drained of blood.

Sam sighed at the memory of the Alpha's blade slicing his skin from inner elbow to wrist; remembering the blinding pain and how his blood had initially gushed fast and warm...and now trickled slow and cold.

But everything was cold...just like everything was too much effort.

Sam blinked and slowly turned his head to look at his right arm; his unfocused eyes seeing nothing but red; hearing the faint rhythmic drip of his blood as it continued to flow from his deeply sliced flesh.

_It is highly likely you will bleed out by the time Dean is brought back to this side._

Sam blinked again as he continued to blearily stare at his blood-soaked arm; hearing the echo of the Alpha's words and believing they were true; still unable to remember where Dean was but believing more than ever that he would not be alive to see his brother's return.

Which meant Sam was going to die alone...

_You are well and truly on your own. _

Sam closed his eyes at Crowley's words; feeling the sting of tears and wondering if the room was really as cold as he felt like it was; if his heart was really beating slower and his breaths really becoming shallower.

It was hard to tell.

Because everything was too much effort; everything was covered in red; and everything hurt...especially the possibility of never seeing Dean again.

"No," Sam whispered; his voice barely audible as a wave of Winchester stubbornness and determination surged through him.

Because he had been here before; had been at Death's door; had entered, had stayed awhile, had returned; had literally looked Death in the face and was sure as hell not in any hurry to see the Old Man again.

...which meant Sam had to do what he had been raised to do – _fight for his life_.

Sam sighed at the enormous effort that would take and blinked as he gazed down the length of his body; his legs and feet sprawled in front of him; his body remaining in the chair only because the straps held him there.

Clenching his jaw – the motion hardly a twitch – Sam tried to pull his feet closer; tried to push himself up in the seat with his legs.

But blood loss and exhaustion conspired against him, making his movements uncoordinated...and entirely too much effort.

Sam sighed again – sounding more like a whimper of pain and frustration – and tried once more; his right leg actually moving the second time but only succeeding in inching closer to the blood-filled bowl on the floor.

Sam frowned at the unintended movement; noticing for the first time that the bowl meant to collect his blood for the spell was actually overflowing; that his blood was cresting and was slipping over the bowl's sides and down to the floor; the expensive, imported rug soaking up the red.

Sam's face scrunched as he realized the rug was actually wet with his blood; the fibers having reached maximum absorption, and his boot squelching in the resulting crimson moisture that now pooled on the stained fabric.

_It is highly likely you will bleed out by the time Dean is brought back to this side._

Sam swallowed at the repeated echo of the Alpha's words; his wrists weakly twisting in the straps that bound him to the chair; wincing as pain flared in his right arm and wondering how long it would take for the spell to work...if it worked at all.

Sam felt his eyes dip closed and frantically blinked them open; afraid they would never open again if he allowed himself to give into the beckoning darkness; reminding himself that he had to fight to stay alive.

But resistance was futile, and Sam knew it was a fight he would eventually lose – because everything was too much effort.

Sam restlessly shifted in the chair; his breaths fast and shallow; his heart faintly thudding in his chest; his throat dry; and his bangs sweaty.

Sam shifted again – desperate to sit up, to breathe easier – but only succeeded in striking the side of the bowl on the floor with the toe of his right boot, spilling its contents.

Sam sat motionless, staring in detached fascination as his blood literally covered the room; the bowl clattering soundlessly to its side and splashing red onto his jeans and the chair; the crimson flood going beyond the rug's edge and gliding across the hardwood floor; the scarlet tide staining everything it touched and making Sam wonder if he was already dead.

Because there was no way a human could lose that much blood and still live...was there?

Sam blinked; his eyes slowly tracking back to his right arm but stopping as he saw the familiar shape lying in a tangled, bloody heap on the rug.

Sam twitched a smile at the sight of the amulet; having forgotten about it being used in the spell – the black cord and ugly gold charm having been hidden at the bottom of the bowl by the amount of his blood that had quickly spilled forth after the Alpha had cut him.

But there it was; merely inches from Sam's boot and serving as a reminder of why Sam was doing this – for Dean; and why Sam had to survive it – _for Dean_.

Sam felt a wave of comfort wash over him at the thought of his brother and inhaled as deeply as he could; coughing as the straps constricted his chest and he choked on the resulting shallow breath.

Sam closed his eyes; feeling the pull of unconsciousness and willing the pain to pass.

Seconds later, Sam blinked and swallowed; determined to speak, to call Dean's name in case his brother could hear him just as he had heard Dean earlier.

Sam opened his mouth; his lips dry, his throat sore...and his voice nonexistent.

Sam frowned at the silence and tried again; his voice hoarse and barely audible as he finally spoke.

"D..."

It was all he could manage – only the first sound of his brother's name – but Sam knew it was enough; knew that if Dean heard it, he would instinctively hear everything behind it...the pain, the weakness, the fear, _the urgency_.

Dean had been deciphering Sam's language since Sam had first started babbling as a baby, and the big brother's skills had only improved over the years; time and experience having made Dean an expert in all things Sam...including the meaning behind whispered, slurred sounds.

Sam swallowed. "D..." he said again; breathless from the effort but knowing Dean would hear it wherever his brother was.

Because that was how they worked; that was the depth of their bond. Even over time and space, Dean would hear Sam's voice...just as Sam had heard Dean's.

Sam knew it.

He _knew_ it.

And that was the thought – _the belief_ – that followed him down into the darkness once more.

* * *

He had just turned to follow Mary into the deeper parts of the cave when he once again detected it – the unmistakable coppery scent of blood..._Sam's_ blood.

Dean froze mid-stride, feeling dread spread through his chest as he inhaled deeply – double-checking what he already knew – and almost gagged from the overwhelming smell; as if his brother's blood had been spilled into the cave and was covering everything.

But...

Dean blinked; his gaze sweeping over the cave's fire-lit interior; seeing nothing but shadows on the walls and his mom staring at him worriedly.

"Dean..." Mary called, stepping closer to her son. "What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head; because if his mom was asking him that question, then she couldn't smell what he did...and he wasn't going to tell her.

They had enough to deal with right now without adding that disturbing detail to the mix – and Dean wasn't sharing any of his secrets until his parents shared theirs.

"Dean..."

Dean blinked at the sound of Mary's concerned voice.

"Are you – "

"I'm fine," Dean lied to his mother and nodded toward the deeper parts of the cave; silently urging Mary to lead the way; eager to find out who was waiting back there and how they – or any of this – related to Sam. "Let's go..."

Mary hesitated, glancing at her husband as John stood beside Ash in the center of the cave; hunter and computer genius obviously discussing whatever was on the laptop's screen.

"John..."

John's attention snapped to his wife; staring at her expectantly.

"I think you should come with us," Mary suggested – though it wasn't a suggestion – and waited for John to nod his agreement before forcing a smile at her son and turning to lead the way into the deeper parts of the cave.

Dean sighed and started to once again follow behind her when he felt it – an indescribable force simultaneously pushing and pulling him; like something was literally trying to suck him from the cave...or maybe even Purgatory itself, given the strength of the force.

"Whoa..." Dean commented; his hand bracing against the cold stone wall as he steadied himself – the force relenting just as quickly as it had taken hold. "What the hell was that?" he demanded; his gaze flickering between his parents – Mary in front, John behind – as they, too, supported themselves against the cave's wall.

There was silence.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What the hell was that?" he repeated; his tone sharp as his parents stared at him – John's expression unreadable while Mary's was openly surprised and confused.

"What the hell was what?" Ash asked from where he continued to sit in the center of the cave; looking at the Winchesters over the edge of his laptop screen.

Dean arched an eyebrow at the question. "You didn't just feel that?"

Ash shrugged. "Feel what?"

Dean shook his head. "Never mind," he replied – because he was obviously talking to the wrong person – and once again glanced between his parents. "Tell me you felt that..."

"I did," Mary confirmed; her gaze seeking her husband's in the darkness. "John..."

"Yeah," John agreed distractedly; pushing away from the cave's wall and glancing over his shoulder toward the entrance as if he could see whatever force had literally grabbed and shook him and his family...but not Ash.

John tilted his head at that detail.

And the gesture did not go unnoticed.

"What?" Dean and Mary asked in unison; both stepping closer to John.

John shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted thoughtfully. "It's just weird that we're the only ones who felt whatever that was..."

Mary nodded, glancing beyond John and then behind herself; wondering if the other hunters – both out in Purgatory's forest and deeper in the cave – had felt it.

"Maybe it was the wind..." Dean calmly reasoned, even though he knew otherwise; could feel something deeper happening.

First the overwhelming smell of Sam's blood...followed by whatever force that just was?

Yeah – there was something else going on here.

And John's answer only confirmed it.

"There's no wind in Purgatory," John informed his son and then vaguely waved at the fire still burning toward the cave's entrance. "Plus a wind that strong would've blown out the fire." He paused, glancing between his wife and oldest son. "Whatever that was – "

" – was supernatural," Mary finished, because there was no other way to describe it.

"And was meant only for us," Dean further commented; his thoughts immediately returning to Sam and to his earlier suspicions about his brother having been injured in a blood spell meant to rescue him...but instead gone horribly wrong.

...which meant Sam could be bleeding out as they stood there in the cave's inner passage.

...which also meant Dean was instantly done with fucking around.

Mary frowned at the hard expression on her son's face. "What?"

"Sam needs me," Dean brusquely informed; his tone sharp with worry and urgency as he sidestepped his mom and made his own way into the depths of the cave.

Mary's eyes widened slightly. "Dean, wait..." she called behind her son; quickening her steps to catch up with her oldest.

John followed as well.

"Dean..." Mary called again.

But Dean ignored her; continuing to follow the natural bends of the cave's interior as he walked deeper into the stone structure; determined to find out what the hell was going on and pausing only when he turned a corner and was greeted by the crackle and glow of another fire...along with the sight of more familiar faces.

All three were a surprise – bittersweet like the others had been – but one in particular...

"Bobby?" Dean blurted; almost choking on the name as a mixture of emotions rose in his throat.

Bobby smiled warmly in response as he crossed to Dean and roughly hugged his oldest adopted son.

John clenched his jaw as he watched the exchanged gesture of love and affection; feeling Mary's light touch on his arm as she stood beside him and knowing it was his wife's way of silently discouraging him from being an ass.

After all, they had bigger issues to deal with than who made the better father – nature John or nurture Bobby.

John sighed harshly; still not liking it.

Mary rubbed her husband's arm; still encouraging him to let it go.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to see you too soon..." Bobby reminded the Winchesters' oldest and patted Dean's back.

Dean snorted and pushed away from the older hunter; remembering how Bobby's flask had burned – and Bobby with it – and how Bobby had commented about seeing him and Sam on the other side...only not too soon.

"I didn't plan on this," Dean informed dryly.

It was Bobby's turn to snort. "None of us did," he returned. "I'm not sure where I thought I was going when that flask disappeared in that fire," he confessed. "But it sure as hell wasn't here."

"Amen to that," another voice agreed.

Dean glanced in the direction from which it came and blinked in recognition; freshly surprised to see him...especially in Purgatory. But to the angels, a hunter was a hunter; even if he was also a pastor.

Dean sighed. "Pastor Jim..."

The pastor nodded; smiling as he stepped forward and squeezed Dean's shoulder in greeting. "It is unfortunate our reunion should occur under these circumstances," Jim commented in that quiet, formal way he always had. "But I must admit I am relieved to see you."

Dean narrowed his eyes; appreciating the pastor's warm welcome but sensing there was something more. "Relieved?" he repeated, thinking that was a peculiar word choice since he had not arrived in Purgatory on a rescue mission; was just as stuck as the rest. "Why?"

"Because the shit's hittin' the fan," a woman's voice replied; her tone loud and sharp with the kind of energy that comes from an adrenaline rush. "And it's all because of you..."

Dean frowned at the accusation as well as at the person who spoke. "Pamela?"

The psychic winked. "Good to see you again," she told Dean from where she sat in the middle of the floor in front of the fire and then glanced at Mary as the mother stood beside her son. "Does he know?"

And there it was again – everyone seeming to know whatever there was to know...except Dean.

Dean sighed harshly. "No, I don't know," he snapped and was about to say more when he heard it – Sam's voice calling for him..._again_.

"Sam..." Dean immediately responded; his gaze sweeping over the cave even though he knew he wouldn't find his brother.

But the kid's voice sounded weaker than before; his brother not even saying Dean's full name this time but only slurring the beginning sound.

Dean swallowed his panic at the implications.

There was silence; the others exchanging glances at Dean's desperate call for his brother.

But Pamela was the first to speak. "You heard that?"

Dean cut his eyes at the psychic. "Yeah," he confirmed and then paused, realizing she must have heard it as well to have asked him that question. "Did you?"

Pamela nodded. "I always hear him," she replied cryptically.

"So do I," Dean returned, earning another nod from Pamela.

"I know you do," the psychic agreed.

Dean frowned; curious and strangely possessive; not liking Pamela having any kind of connection to his brother, even though he considered her a friend. "How do you hear him?"

Pamela smiled. "Sam's a psychic, too," she reminded, as if that explained everything. "Maybe his powers aren't as strong as they used to be because he hasn't used them in quite a while. But being a psychic isn't something you grow out of. I doubt Sam even realizes it, but he emits a signal; a supernatural beacon all his own that's easily identified by other psychics."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "So..."

"So Pamela can track Sam wherever he is," Bobby further explained. "Can sense him and sometimes hear him."

"That's how we've been keeping up with you boys topside," John added.

Mary smiled; a mother's love and pride shining in her eyes. "Because wherever Sam is, you're usually right there with him..."

"Except now," Dean pointed out and clenched his jaw; hating it when he was away from Sam...especially when his brother needed him as the kid undoubtedly did now.

Mary nodded. "Except now," she agreed quietly and squeezed Dean's shoulder.

Dean sighed; not sure if he was impressed, touched...or incredibly freaked out by the idea that his parents and fellow hunters had been privy to everything he and Sam had done – and maybe even said – since...

"How long?" Dean asked.

"Have I been supernaturally tailing your asses?" Pamela clarified.

Dean nodded.

Pamela shrugged. "Hard to say since time doesn't exist here..."

"Long enough," John replied; crossing his arms over his chest and giving Dean a meaningful look; communicating with a single expression how much they all knew about what had happened over the past few years between the brothers.

"I see..." Dean responded; a mixture of emotions tightening his chest.

Mary shook her head. "But none of that matters now..." she soothed; giving her own meaningful look to John.

John said nothing.

There was a beat of silence.

Pamela sighed, directing her attention to Dean. "So, I'm guessing if you've been hearing Sam, then you know he's been calling for you since – "

" – since the tree line," Dean finished.

Pamela nodded.

"Oh my god..." Mary whispered, amazed and overwhelmed; having heard stories from the others about how close her children were but having no idea that Dean would be able to sense his brother even in the depths of Purgatory.

Dean glanced at his mother but then jerked his attention away from her as Sam's voice once again called out to him; the same slurred sound.

Mary frowned at her oldest. "What?"

"Sam's dying," Pamela informed before Dean could answer; her voice quiet, her tone gentle...but her words nonetheless wounding.

Dean scowled. "Like hell he is," he snapped, even as he could feel it, too; his brother slipping away; the kid injured and dying even as they spoke...but why? What had happened?

"No," Mary breathed at the news of her youngest's fate and shook her head; staring up at John as her husband simply clenched his jaw in denial.

"Damn it, boy..." Bobby muttered and glanced at the pastor standing beside him.

Jim sighed, bowing his head as he clasped his rosary between his hands and prayed; having no idea if his prayers ever made it out of Purgatory but determined to continue lifting them up.

"He's not dying," Dean insisted; his expression as hard as his tone as he stared at Pamela. "Not on my watch."

"It's not your watch," Pamela corrected.

"It's always my watch," Dean sharply returned.

"Not if you're not there with him," Pamela reminded.

Dean glared at the psychic. "Then get me there." He glanced at the others. "There has to be a way..."

"There is," Bobby confirmed.

"We _think_ there is," John emphasized; glaring at the older hunter. "No one's tried it before."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Bobby persisted, unfazed by John's hard expression. "And it doesn't mean it won't work."

"What?" Dean demanded. "Tell me."

Because Sam's time was growing short; he could feel it with every beat of his own heart.

Bobby shook his head. "I can tell you. But it won't do you no good."

Dean frowned. "Why?"

"Because it only works topside," John revealed. "And it's dangerous as hell."

Dean's frown deepened; concerned by his dad's use of that description. Because John never thought anything was dangerous; everything worth whatever price.

"Tell me," Dean repeated and stared at his father; refusing to back down.

Because this was _Sam _they were talking about, and Dean needed to know; needed to at least try to get back to the kid; needed the chance to save Sam...even if it killed him in the process.

"You might as well tell him," Pamela reasonably advised; her gaze flickering between John and Bobby. "Sam's already put it into motion..."

John arched a surprised, questioning eyebrow.

"While you were out..." Pamela explained, answering the father's unspoken question about when his youngest had been so reckless with his own life.

"Shit..." John hissed and glanced at his wife; angrily – _worriedly_ – shaking his head.

Dean watched the exchange and sighed harshly; somehow knowing the answer even before he asked. "Does it involve a blood spell?"

Bobby blinked in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"Because I know Sam," Dean replied simply. "And I can smell his blood," he added and heard his mom gasp softly as she stood beside him. "I've smelled it since the tree line as well..."

John scowled. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder. "I told you I heard Sam's voice, but you didn't believe me. Figured you wouldn't believe me smelling the kid's blood all the way down here, either..."

"Jesus, Dean!" John snapped. "That's an important detail. That means your brother's been bleeding out since – "

" – since right after you left camp to go find Dean," Pamela finished, nodding at John.

Mary sighed shakily but said nothing; having been by Pamela's side the entire time the psychic had originally reported to the group what Sam was doing topside...and knowing Pamela was omitting other important details in her current recounting.

"That's not all..." Mary began, glancing at John and Dean. "Sam also made contact with Missouri Mosley."

"Missouri?" Dean echoed; instantly realizing another psychic connection Pamela could use to track his brother's whereabouts. "Why did Sam contact her?"

Pamela shrugged. "I don't think he met her face-to-face. The energy was too weak, and their conversation was too faint. But I think he called her for direction; to confirm something he was feeling."

Dean frowned. "Like what?"

There was silence.

"Like what?" Dean growled, glaring at those staring back at him.

Bobby sighed, rubbing the back of his neck; a familiar nervous habit. "Like whether he should go to the Alpha Vamp."

Dean blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard him," John replied. "The blood spell to pull someone from Purgatory only has two ingredients. But those ingredients have one hell of a price."

"The blood of a native of Purgatory..." Bobby listed, holding up one finger. "...which in this case would be the Alpha Vamp. And then..." He held up a second finger. "...the blood of a first-line relative of whoever is trapped down here." He paused. "And when I say blood, I mean _blood_."

Dean swallowed; instantly understanding the emphasized word; knowing it meant Sam would have to have contributed an immeasurable amount of his blood for the spell.

"And the other part of the spell..." Pastor Jim prompted, glancing at Bobby.

Bobby nodded at the reminder.

Dean cut his eyes at the older hunter. "What other part?"

"Something that would tie you and Sam together," Bobby replied. "Something that would..." He shrugged for the right words to explain. "...that would mean something between you."

Dean frowned; confused by what that _something_ would be...and then instantly knowing; glancing at his chest where it should've been hanging.

There was a pause.

Dean glanced at Bobby. "The amulet?"

Bobby shrugged. "That would be my guess."

"But I don't have it anymore..." Dean pointed out; the admission painful even now, several years later after he had thoughtlessly trashed it.

"Maybe _you_ don't," Bobby replied suggestively; his tone and expression implying he knew who _did_ have it.

Dean swallowed; surprised by how emotional he suddenly felt. "You..." He swallowed again. "You really think he has it?" he asked the older hunter, knowing they were both talking about Sam having the amulet.

Bobby said nothing; his expression continuing to say it all.

Dean nodded at the unspoken truth; remembering how long Sam had taken to exit that motel room and having always suspected that his brother had rescued the amulet from the trash; had sometimes wondered where the kid was keeping it...and if he was ever going to give it back.

Dean sighed. "Okay..." he allowed. "Let's say Sam does have the amulet...then what?"

"It's mixed in the spell," Bobby replied.

Dean nodded again, having suspected that.

There was silence.

"Can we stop him?" Dean asked; his gaze traveling the cave as he looked at each person.

Because even though Dean wanted to get out of Purgatory, he didn't want to do so at the expense of Sam's life. He didn't even want to do so at the expense of the kid being injured. Dean wanted Sam safe and intact when he returned – not barely alive.

"Can we stop him?" Dean asked again; ready to do anything to accomplish that task.

"No," John and Bobby answered in unison and then exchanged glances; both father and father figure concerned about their youngest.

"There _has_ to be a way," Mary insisted; her eyes pleading with John's.

"There's not," Pastor Jim calmly confirmed; his expression compassionate as he glanced up from his prayers. "I'm sorry."

There was silence.

Dean shook his head; freshly pissed. "So what?" he demanded. "We all just sit around here with our thumbs up our asses while my brother is alone and bleeding to death for nothing? No! Fuck that! I'm doing _something_ to help Sam!"

"Sam is beyond help," Pamela informed, staring into the fire as if she could see something the rest could not. "The spell is too far in progress to stop it or to pull him out."

Bobby nodded his agreement. "The only thing we can do now is wait and hope it works."

Dean blinked and then frowned. "Works?"

Bobby nodded again. "It's never been attempted before, but there's reason to believe it _will _work."

Dean narrowed his eyes; marginally hopeful. "Why? How do you know?"

"The connection between you and Sam is obviously strong," Pamela pointed out. "You've been hearing his voice, smelling his blood..."

"Wait a minute..." Mary spoke up, staring at Bobby as though something had just occurred to her. "Did you say first-line blood relative?"

Bobby nodded.

Mary's gaze flickered to John. "So, that means if this works...Sam will not only pull Dean out of here...but us, too."

John nodded; having already thought about that detail and about what kind of physical strain that would place on their youngest as Sam unknowingly tried to pull three of them from Purgatory at the same time.

Dean frowned. "How would that be possible?" he asked; hopeful but confused. "The two of you don't have bodies on earth anymore."

"That doesn't matter," Pastor Jim assured; repetitively passing the rosary beads through his fingers. "As it is written in Isaiah 26:19, 'Your dead shall live; their bodies shall rise. You who dwell in the dust, awake and sing for joy. For your dew is a dew of light, and the earth will give birth to the dead.'"

Dean blinked. "Okay," he allowed. "So the dead reclaim their bodies, regardless of what happened to those bodies on earth. But doesn't that refer to resurrection?"

Pastor Jim patiently smiled. "And what do you think being pulled from the depths of Purgatory is, if not resurrection?"

Dean slowly nodded; processing that information and unable to argue against the pastor's logic.

"Sam..." Mary murmured, shaking her head in disbelief; unable to grasp the very real possibility of being freed from Purgatory by her youngest; by being saved by the baby she had tried to save all those years ago.

John said nothing – offering no outward reaction to the news as he held his proverbial cards as close to his chest as he always had – but wrapped his arm around Mary's shoulders; holding his wife against him.

Mary smiled up at her husband before feeling the expression fade. Because as wonderful as escaping Purgatory would be, their freedom was not worth Sam's life.

Dean sighed; his mind buzzing. "Okay..." he began. "Let's say this blood spell does work and Sam is able to pull us out of here...what then? We're just beamed up?"

Bobby shrugged. "Hard to say since it's never happened. But the theory is that the force of connection is so strong between first-line blood relatives that you'll literally be sucked out...like a vacuum."

Dean nodded; his gaze flickering between his parents as he remembered the force they had all three felt before venturing deeper into the cave; a force so strong it had almost knocked them off their feet.

"It'll be so fast that those being rescued won't have time to register what's happening," Bobby elaborated. "You'll be here...and then seemingly in the next second, you'll be topside without being able to remember anything in between." He paused and shrugged. "...which I guess is similar to arriving here from up there when you think about it..."

Dean nodded again; remembering his recent trip to Purgatory all too well – being with Sam one second...and in the next blink, being in Purgatory's moonlit forest.

"For the rest of us – those of us left behind – it'll be like a bright flash of light..." Bobby continued to explain. "...almost like a searchlight...like the blood is trying to find its match. And when it finds it..."

Dean arched an eyebrow as Bobby's voice faded. "What?"

Bobby shrugged. "Well, that's it. Game over. 'Blood of my blood' and all that implies. The black sky is peeled back, and you're snatched out."

"And reunited with your bodies," Pastor Jim added, glancing between John and Mary. "The entire process takes fractions of seconds to complete...from here to there and back to life as you know it."

John snorted. "_Knew_ it," he corrected, because it had been quite a while since he and Mary had lived on earth.

"Like riding a bike..." Jim soothed; referring to the old adage to assure a smooth transition.

John looked doubtful.

Mary sighed. "I can't believe this might actually happen..."

Dean nodded; his body humming with adrenaline; his mind buzzing with possibilities; and his chest tight with emotions – hopeful, guarded excitement...but also dread, worry, and fear.

Because while Dean wanted to be out of Purgatory and back with Sam – and while he welcomed his parents to join them topside – none of it was worth Sam's life.

_None of it._

Dean sighed, feeling anxious that he had not heard Sam's voice over several minutes, and glanced at the psychic as Pamela continued to stare into the fire.

"He's still alive," Pamela confirmed; squinting at the flames. "But he's fading fast."

Dean nodded; because she had told him nothing he had not already known. "Hang on, Sammy..." he quietly urged; willing the spell to work so he could get back to his brother and get the kid to a hospital.

Because no one survived the kind of blood loss Bobby had implied without receiving medical intervention...and Dean wasn't losing Sam.

There was silence in the cave; the fire crackling as the group exchanged glances; no one daring to breathe as they waited.

And then, without warning – just as Bobby had predicted – it happened.

The same force the Winchesters had felt before suddenly returned; pushing and pulling and drawing them out as a blinding light flooded the entire cave.

In the next instant, Dean was topside along with his parents; all three breathless and disoriented as they sprawled on their backs beside each other.

Dean swallowed; blinking at the oddly familiar vaulted ceiling and then noticing the tall windows and dark furnishings; remembering that Sam had gone to the Alpha Vamp for help with the blood spell...which would mean Sam had probably gone back to the Alpha's house...which meant Sam was probably still there – or more accurately, still _here_.

Because Dean recognized where he was; knew he had been there before; and realized Sam's blood had not only rescued him and his parents from Purgatory but had also drawn them to his brother's physical location.

Sam was _here_.

The realization immediately cleared Dean's mind and spurred him into action.

"Sam..." Dean called, saying his brother's name even before he sat up; scrambling to get to his feet – to find Sam – but pausing when his hands touched the unmistakably thick, sticky texture of drying blood.

With dread, Dean looked down at his hands splayed on the floor; the hardwood completely coated with red as if someone had accidently spilt a bucket of paint.

But Dean knew it wasn't paint that was staining the floor...and the rug and practically everything else it touched; it was blood – _Sam's_ blood.

"No..." Dean murmured, shaking his head in denial as he frantically pushed to his feet; his eyes sweeping the room and immediately landing on Sam. "No!" he said again, yelling it this time, and quickly crossed to his brother. "Sammy..."

As expected, Sam did not respond but remained motionless in the chair; slumped and held in place only by the straps around his chest, wrists, and ankles; his eyes closed, his skin pale, and his right side completely covered in blood.

"Sam..." Dean called, lowering his head to better see Sam's face; cupping his brother's jaw and trying to ignore how cold the kid felt; how still he was. "Sammy..."

Behind him, Dean heard movement; knowing his parents were finally gaining their bearings – having been freshly restored to their earthly bodies – and were getting to their feet; undoubtedly staring in shock at the blood-stained scene that greeted them.

But Dean didn't turn around to see; his attention solely focused on Sam.

"Sammy..." Dean called again; his blood-slick fingers reaching for Sam's neck, desperate for a pulse as his eyes continued to scan his brother's pale face – Sam's skin the same waxy grey color it had been as the kid had laid on that bed in Cold Oak.

Dean momentarily squeezed his eyes shut against the image – because _no fucking way_ was he going through that again – and willed himself to get his shit in one bag. Because he couldn't help Sam if he was freaking out.

"Dean..."

Dean startled at his dad's voice; opening his eyes to find John standing across from him and Mary beside him.

"I can't find a pulse," Dean told them; panic almost choking the words in his throat; his fingers moving to the opposite side of Sam's neck while his other hand reached for Sam's left wrist, determined to find _some_ sign of life in his brother. "I can't find a pulse..."

John shook his head – because that news was unacceptable – and calmly reached for Sam; flawlessly resuming his role as the ever-present voice of reason and control...even when it seemed his youngest was dead.

"I'll do this," John told Dean; referring to finding a pulse and nudging Dean's fingers away as he placed his own fingers against Sam's neck. "You and your mom cut him loose from this chair, so we can get him ready for transport to the hospital."

Because they didn't need a family discussion to decide Sam was beyond their help and required more than a motel room patch up with a military surplus first aid kit.

Dean swallowed at the order – remembering all the times he and his dad had gone through this triaging routine over the years – and nodded; instantly feeling calmer.

Because he could do this; Sam was depending on him to do this.

John returned the nod; his gaze flickering to Mary as his wife smoothly pulled a knife from her boot.

Dean's eyes widened slightly even as he did the same with his own knife and crouched beside his brother; realizing that while he had always remembered his mom as kind and nurturing...Mary had been a hunter before she had been a mother; had always been the type of woman to carry a knife and do what had to be done – whether that was kick some ass or gently free her injured youngest from the straps that bound him.

Just because Dean had never known her in that role – and just because Mary had originally wanted to escape it – didn't mean the role didn't suit Mary or that she wasn't damn good at it.

Dean blinked – freshly appreciating his mom for the hunter she was and for what she contributed to their reunited family – and focused again on Sam; carefully sliding the blade of his knife between his brother's skin and the leather strap around the kid's tattered right wrist.

"Shit..." Dean hissed as his eyes scanned from Sam's wrist to his brother's elbow; taking in the deep, almost surgical slice running the length of the kid's arm.

Dean shook his head at the damage; his own hands slippery with blood and coated in red as he put away his knife and gently stabilized Sam's injured arm while holding the kid in place, watching as Mary continued to cut through the remaining straps.

"I want that Alpha dead," Mary told her husband and oldest son; her voice quietly lethal as she carefully sliced the last leather strap from Sam's chest. "Do you hear me? I want him _dead_."

Dean nodded. "Hell yes," he agreed heartily; his hand splayed in the center of Sam's chest to keep his brother from falling out of the chair now that the straps no longer held the kid in place.

Mary nodded as well – seething with maternal anger that someone...or more accurately, _something..._had dared to purposefully and so severely hurt her child – and then returned her knife to her boot before removing her jacket.

Dean watched as his mom crouched beside him; helping her wrap the thick fabric around Sam's right arm.

"I hate seeing him hurt like this," Mary confessed; her eyes misty with unshed tears as she covered the last of Sam's torn, bloody flesh and expertly tied the sleeves of the jacket around her son's arm; holding the makeshift bandage in place.

Dean nodded; knowing exactly how she felt. "He'll be okay," he told his mom; willing it to be true. "Sam's a fighter," he promised and then paused; feeling dangerously close to tears himself as he affectionately patted his brother's chest. "Aren't ya, Sammy?"

Mary smiled softly as she watched her oldest with her youngest; knowing she had missed so much over the years since her death. "I hope so," she replied about Sam being a fighter and glanced at her husband, seeking further reassurance. "John..."

John offered a tentative smile. "He's a fighter alright..." he agreed and nodded encouragingly at Dean and Mary as they looked at him. "Finally found a pulse," he reported. "But it's weak, and we need to move our asses."

Both mother and son nodded.

"Is the Impala here?" John asked, backing away from Sam to allow room for Dean to stand.

"The Impala?" Mary echoed as she also stood; smiling briefly at the mention of that familiar car and at the memories tied to it.

John nodded at his wife and then looked at Dean. "Is it here?" he pressed his oldest.

"I don't know," Dean replied distractedly; swiping his hand under Sam's damp bangs, down his face, and once again cupping the kid's jaw; frowning at his brother's cold, clammy skin and hating how Sam had made no response the entire time they had been tending to him.

No shift of movement. No whimper of pain or distress. Nothing.

Dean swallowed, staring at his brother as he felt emotion tightening his chest; because Sam had done this for _him_. The kid always believing Dean was worth saving even when Dean didn't believe it himself.

"Doesn't matter..." John commented, still talking about whether or not the Impala was nearby. "If she's not outside, we'll find something else."

"Exactly," Mary agreed; eager to be en route to the hospital. "But check his pockets for the keys just in case..."

John nodded at his wife's suggestion. "I will when we stand him up," he replied; knowing it would be impossible to do so at the current angle Sam was sitting.

Mary sighed. "Okay, good. So let's go..."

John nodded again at his wife but turned his attention to his son. "Dean..." he called and waited for Dean to look at him; having not been gone so long from this life as to have forgotten how possessive his oldest could be over Sam; knowing the only reason Dean had let him take charge of their youngest earlier was because of shock.

But Dean was recovered now; was obviously back in control and assuming his role as Sam's protector, judging by how he hovered over his unconscious brother; one hand still resting in the center of the kid's chest.

"Dean..." John called again.

Dean glanced at his father. "I've got him," he answered, having already known John's question.

Mary frowned at the seemingly impossible task of Dean managing an unconscious Sam all by himself; her tiny baby having obviously grown to an impressive height.

"I've got him," Dean repeated to his mom; because he had carried this huge, muscular version of his little brother before...and he would do it again.

Because that's what he and Sam did for each other – whatever needed to be done, no matter how impossible it seemed.

And although Dean was happy and thankful his parents were back, their presence didn't change anything; Sam was still his – his job, his responsibility, his to look after.

And while John and Mary were welcome to tag along if they wanted, Dean had no intention of allowing them to come between him and Sam. Too many years had passed; too much had happened. It had always been him and Sam against the world...and it still was – perhaps now more than ever.

Dean sighed at the enormity of that truth; taking a step back to better position himself to lift Sam and pausing when he felt something hard and surprisingly pointy under his boot.

And even before he looked, Dean knew what he would see.

Because there was never any doubt that Sam had been keeping it all this time.

Mary narrowed her eyes at her son's expression. "What?"

Dean shook his head – because she wouldn't understand the significance of what he had just found – and said nothing as he crouched; his fingers tangling in the black cord as he palmed the familiar gold charm; the necklace completely coated in Sam's blood...as if the amulet wasn't already symbolic enough.

John glanced at his wife and then watched his oldest as Dean stood; recognizing what his son held and feeling unexpectedly sappy because of it; knowing why Dean hadn't been wearing the amulet – even though Dean had never _not _worn it all the years John had been alive – but also knowing this moment was special in a way Mary couldn't grasp.

Even still...they had another more pressing issue.

"Dean..."

Dean nodded at his dad's voice, knowing he was wasting time, and quickly pocketed the amulet before reaching for his brother.

Dean sighed, carefully easing Sam to his feet and bracing himself to accept the kid's weight as Sam rose with Dean's gentle pulling and slumped forward, bonelessly resting against Dean's chest; his head lolling on Dean's shoulder while his blood soaked into Dean's clothes.

"Hang on," John called, stepping forward and quickly searching the pockets of Sam's jeans; smiling as he snagged the Impala's keys and shook them triumphantly in the air.

Mary smiled as well.

"That's my boy," Dean praised, knowing Sam would've kept the Impala close, and readjusted his hold on the kid still resting against him. "Alright, Sammy..." he called, preparing to lift his brother. "Just hang on a little bit longer..."

* * *

_**TBC**_


	6. Chapter 6

The surgery had been tedious and had taken hours to complete but had been a remarkable success.

The ulnar and radial arteries in Sam's right arm were repaired from where both had been significantly nicked when the assailant – also known as the Alpha Vamp for those who believed in such things – had savagely sliced into Sam's skin during the knife attack in the alley...or at least that was what the hospital staff had been told.

The Winchesters had learned long ago that any story would suffice as long as it wasn't the truth.

While the muscle and surrounding tissue damage was concerning, the surgeon felt confident it would heal with time and was pleased – although surprised – that the radial, median, and ulnar nerves had all been spared and were not only intact but were also functioning as they should.

Although, he warned, there could be intermittent tingling due to the overall trauma sustained, and the surgeon encouraged the family to be patient; reminding them they would know more about just how functional Sam's right arm and hand would be after he awoke from surgery and began physical therapy in the weeks ahead.

In addition, Sam had received multiple blood transfusions – and would receive quite a few more over the course of the next several days – and would be kept on IV fluids as well as antibiotics for the duration of his stay at the hospital. Pain meds would be administered and adjusted as needed, and Sam would remain on oxygen for at least the next 24 to 48 hours to ease the stress on his body as it began the healing process.

Overall, the surgeon was impressed with Sam's obvious will to live – commenting how most patients would have bled out and died within minutes of sustaining the kind of injury Sam had – and was optimistic about Sam's recovery; assuring the Winchesters as he left the room that they should be, too.

But that had been over an hour ago; almost _two hours ago_ by Mary's estimation.

And during that time, Sam hadn't budged or made a sound; was still as pale and motionless on the mattress as he had been when the orderlies had first brought him to the recovery room after surgery.

Mary sighed as she paced around the small room – back and forth...back and forth – wondering why her husband and oldest son seemed so calm about this.

Someone besides her should be freaking out.

Because two hours was a long damn time when you were waiting for someone to wake up...and that's all Mary wanted – just for Sam to wake up.

She wanted to see her youngest smile; wanted to see if he still had those dimples he had even as a baby; that feature that had always melted her heart, much like John's dimples always had.

She wanted to see Sam's eyes; wanted to know if they were hazel like John's, blue like hers, or startlingly green like his brother's.

She wanted to hear Sam speak; wanted to hear if her youngest's voice was as deep and growly as John's and Dean's; wanted to hear Sam tell them he was okay.

But Sam hadn't done any of that; hadn't smiled, hadn't opened his eyes, hadn't spoken.

It had been almost two hours, and Sam hadn't moved.

Mary sighed again and glanced at John as she passed by him on her current lap around the room; feeling slightly annoyed how her husband was practically lounging in one the chairs next to the bed...but then reminded herself that John's overly casual demeanor was an often practiced, well-crafted façade.

Having been married to him for over 30 years, Mary knew how to see through the cracks; could see John's worry in the way he clasped his hands in his lap and repeatedly turned his wedding band around his finger...around and around and around.

Mary felt her heart soften as she noticed the familiar nervous habit; also seeing the fear her husband harbored for their youngest as it settled across his forehead and around his eyes; causing them to wrinkle and squint and thus making John look tired and worn.

Being supernaturally pulled from Purgatory and restored to your earthly body...and then having to save your youngest son from bleeding out – all in the same day in a matter of hours – would do that.

Mary smiled softly to herself; freshly appreciating her husband's quiet strength and overwhelmed by how much she loved that ornery, complicated man named John Winchester.

When they had said "for better or for worse" on their wedding day, they had had no idea what that would mean – and yet, here they were...still together after everything.

Mary swallowed as she felt tears sting her eyes and then glanced at Dean, feeling emotional for an entirely different reason.

It had been years since she had seen her oldest; and yet in a lot of ways, Dean was just as she remembered – strong, smart, capable...and an amazing big brother.

Mary smiled at the memory of how her sweet little four-year old had often dutifully watched Sammy while the baby had slept; had insisted on having a stool beside Sam's crib so he could fully see the baby at all times.

And it seemed not much had changed.

Because there Dean was – sitting on the edge of Sam's bed; facing his brother and watching him sleep; his gaze unwavering for the past two hours while he patiently waited for Sam to wake up.

Mary inhaled shakily as a surge of love and pride made her want to cry.

Dean glanced at her as she made the sound – his expression unreadable – and Mary forced a smile as she finally stopped pacing; sensing she was unintentionally annoying her oldest with her nervous habit.

Dean held her gaze before directing his attention to the monitors surrounding Sam – his eyes scanning their screens, double-checking their numbers – and then refocused on his sleeping brother.

Mary glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. "Shouldn't he be awake by now?" she asked worriedly, staring at Dean as she approached and stood on the opposite side of Sam's bed in the small recovery room.

John shook his head from where he sat in a nearby chair; having lost count how many times his wife had asked that same question since Sam had gotten out of surgery.

Mary cut her eyes at her husband; knowing his thoughts. "Well, _shouldn't he be_?"

"Mary..."John warned; his patience wearing thin. "You know I love you. But if you don't sit down and shut up..."

Mary glared at the implied threat; knowing it was just another way John dealt with stress; to grumble and growl. "You shut up," she told her husband – though there was no heat to her words – and then turned her attention back to her sons. "Dean..."

Dean made no response as he sat on the edge of Sam's bed and continued to watch his brother sleep; monitoring Sam's vitals in his own way – his hand lightly resting on the kid's chest – and feeling ridiculously excited that color was beginning to return to Sam's pale face.

It was about damn time for a sign of something good.

Because except for being pulled from Purgatory with his parents, being back with Sam, and finding the amulet...the rest of the day had sucked.

Seeing the other hunters again had been nice, but it had only been a reminder to Dean of what they had lost.

Having John and Mary back topside was an unbelievable second chance, but Dean was sure it would only make life more complicated.

And then there was Sam's condition...

Dean would never forget how his brother's blood had literally covered that room at the Alpha Vamp's house and had completely soaked his own clothes as he had carried the kid out; how Sam's pulse had barely fluttered under his fingers while he had held his brother in the backseat of the Impala on their way to the hospital; how Sam had stopped breathing in the ER and then had been frantically resuscitated and whisked to surgery in a flurry of yelling and running as the stretcher had been pushed onto a waiting elevator.

Dean swallowed, remembering how slowly time had ticked by once Sam had disappeared behind those elevator doors; how he had felt like he would go crazy as they had waited for the almost four hour surgery to be completed.

Some of that time had been killed as Dean and his parents had given bogus statements to the police – they had said Sam was attacked, after all – and then Dean had left John and Mary in the waiting room and had returned to the Impala; had tried not to notice the amount of Sam's blood that had been streaked across the entire backseat as he had grabbed his duffel from the trunk...and Sam's, too – maybe because of habit...or maybe because Dean had just needed something close by that reminded him of his brother.

Dean sighed as he remembered retreating to the hospital's bathroom; both duffels in hand as he had locked the door, had turned on the faucet at the sink...and then had just stood there staring at himself in the mirror; his hands shaking as he had gripped the counter; silent tears brimming as he had finally seen just how much of Sam's blood had covered him and had wondered how his brother had any of it left for himself.

Dean didn't know how long he had stood there in that bathroom; maybe an hour...maybe a little more. But when he had emerged, he had made sure his quiet breakdown was over and that his game face was back in place; that he was the Dean Winchester the rest of the world knew; that he was the confident fearless badass others always expected him to be.

It was the version of himself that Dean had known his parents would accept as he had joined them in the waiting room because they didn't know any better...even if Sam would've seen right through it and would've called him on his bullshit – because Sam always knew.

_Yeah, I know you...better than anyone else in the entire world._

"Damn straight, little brother..." Dean murmured to a sleeping Sam as he smiled softly; remembering the words his brother had said to him all those years ago as they had argued in the middle of that motel room; Sam calling Dean on his bullshit about not being afraid of dying and going to Hell.

But now that fear seemed trivial compared to the overwhelming fear of losing Sam; because while Dean knew his brother had already successfully cleared multiple hurdles in his fight to survive, Dean also knew the race was far from over.

Sam was still severely injured, severely dehydrated, and severely hypovolemic.

Dean glanced above Sam's bed; his gaze tracking the various IV lines to their respective origins and to the bags filled with solutions to battle three of his brother's biggest enemies right now: infection, blood loss, and dehydration.

Other lines and wires led to other equipment; the nasal cannula delivering oxygen while the Foley did its own job. The arterial line inserted into Sam's left wrist connected to its own monitor; the small, round electrodes on the kid's chest connected to the cardiac monitor; and the pulse oximeter clipped to Sam's finger also connected to a monitor.

There was a lot going on in the small room – a lot to keep track of – and Dean was glad that he felt more like himself, more alert and in control; was glad he had washed up and had changed into fresh clothes after his breakdown in that bathroom.

Dean glanced down at his chest, remembering how he had also cleaned the amulet and then had promptly put it back where it belonged – around his neck – and then had joined his parents as they had waited for news about his brother.

...and waited...and waited before finally receiving word that Sam was out of surgery and was headed to recovery.

And now here they were – waiting for the kid to wake up.

From the opposite side of the bed, Mary sighed; alternately looking at Sam as he lied motionless beneath the blankets and then at Dean as he sat next to their youngest on the mattress. "Dean..."

"He's okay," Dean assured his mom; his gaze never leaving Sam's face.

Mary frowned; because she could see no signs that indicated that was true. "Are you sure?"

"He's sure," John told his wife; his tone dry yet confident as he continued to lean back in his chair; because he knew from experience that if Dean said Sam was okay...then Sam was okay.

And the rest of the world could just wait to see for themselves.

Mary stared at her oldest. "Dean..."

Dean sighed; willing himself not to snap at his well-meaning mother. Because he knew Mary was just concerned and reminded himself that their mom didn't know Sam well enough to know what was normal. And she didn't really know anything about Dean, either – since he was no longer four-years old – because Mary didn't seem to realize that her hovering was grating on his nerves.

Mary shifted where she stood beside the bed. "Dean – "

" – Mom..." Dean interrupted; his tone and expression similar to his dad's when John had earlier warned Mary to sit down and shut up.

Mary blinked expectantly.

"Sam's fine," Dean told her. "And yes...I'm sure."

"But how do you know?" Mary pressed anxiously; her knuckles white from how tightly she was gripping the bedrails.

Because what if Sam was quietly slipping away right in front of them...and they didn't even notice until it was too late?

"I just do," Dean responded simply; realizing that for as much as Mary already knew about them, she still had a lot to learn. "Sam's fine. Or at least as fine as he can be at this point..."

Mary nodded and sighed; brushing her blond hair from her face and tucking the loose strands behind her ear as she made an obvious attempt to calm down. "I'm sorry..." she apologized, glancing from Dean to John. "I don't mean to be a pain in the ass. I'm just...worried."

John widened his eyes dramatically. "Really? We had no idea."

"Shut up," Mary growled even as she offered a small smile and finally sank into the chair beside John.

John chuckled tiredly and wrapped his arm around his wife; kissing Mary's forehead as she leaned toward him and rested against his shoulder; knowing Dean probably didn't remember that Mary was annoyingly talkative when she was nervous.

And also knowing that Mary probably didn't remember that Dean was extremely protective and possessive of Sam – especially a sick or injured Sam – and didn't like to be questioned or hovered over while he was taking care of his brother.

That's why John had parked his ass in one of the chairs as soon as they had arrived in the recovery room and hadn't moved since; had only spoken to lightly reprimand his wife about her pacing and her generally irritating behavior.

Because unlike Mary, John had the advantage of actually knowing their sons; knew Dean took his job as a big brother seriously – the only thing he took more seriously than hunting – and was thus in charge of Sam and would fiercely challenge anyone who tried to take that role from him.

And Sam – sweet, stubborn kid that he was – had always been overly sensitive to medications and anesthesia and would wake up when he was damn good and ready...and not a moment before then.

Which meant all they could do was wait...

But even John had to admit that was getting harder by the second.

Because while John knew their sons better than Mary, he also knew he had a lot to learn; knew that Sam and Dean weren't the same boys he had left behind several years ago and was eager to start getting reacquainted with his sons...even if it scared the shit out of him.

Because John could tell that Dean was different; was truly his own man now and would not take orders quite as easily; would be more likely to challenge John and make his own decisions.

And while John was proud of his oldest, he was also uncertain what that meant for their relationship. He and Dean had been drill sergeant and soldier for so long that John honestly didn't know how else to interact with his oldest...and was already dreading the awkwardness of navigating this new life.

And then there was Sam...

John sighed; staring at his youngest as the kid continued to lie motionless on the bed; marveling at how much Sam had physically grown and matured and wondering how their relationship would be now.

Because John didn't want to yell and argue and constantly butt heads with his youngest; didn't want the quiet venom of past anger and resentment to poison their fresh start.

John wanted Sam to understand that although he didn't approve of some of the kid's choices, he was still proud of him – just like he was of Dean – for everything he had faced and everything he had done believing it was right at the time.

Like delivering himself to the Alpha Vamp and attempting a life-threatening blood spell on the _chance_ it would bring Dean back...

John shook his head; wanting to be annoyed and pissed by such recklessness...but feeling only love and pride as he wished he could take credit for the kind of man Sam had obviously turned out to be.

But John knew better; knew that credit belonged to his oldest. Because Dean had raised Sam – and himself, for that matter – and had done a damn good job.

John swallowed against the emotion that suddenly lodged in his throat and rubbed his wife's arm as she continued to lean against him; wondering if Mary even knew how awesome their sons were and how incredibly lucky they were to not only have them but to also have a second chance to be with them.

It was truly amazing.

John sighed; surprisingly content.

There was a beat of silence.

"I still can't believe all of this happened..." Mary commented, seeming to sense her husband's thoughts as she continued to watch their sons; Sam sleeping while Dean kept vigil.

John nodded his agreement and then tilted his head as he stared at the IV pole stationed near Sam's bed; remembering seeing a similar setup beside the chair Sam had been strapped to at the Alpha Vamp's house.

Seeming to sense John's focus, Dean glanced at his dad over his shoulder and then at the IV pole. "What?" he asked; his eyes checking the amount of IV fluid left in one bag and the amount of blood left in the other; wondering if John saw something he didn't.

"It's fine," John soothed, assuring Dean that his focus on the pole had nothing to do with Sam's care. "I was just remembering the IV pole back at the Alpha's house..."

Realization lit in Dean's eyes and he nodded; because he had noticed that as well and had remembered seeing other IV poles in the study where he and Sam had been taken during their first trip to the Alpha's house.

Mary frowned. "Do you think he did something else to Sam?"

"Like take a little extra blood for himself?" Dean asked; freshly pissed at the idea of the Alpha Vamp doing whatever he fucking pleased with his desperate, vulnerable little brother.

John nodded. "That's what vamps do."

Not that they had any proof; the blood bags being long gone with the Alpha...and Sam's right arm having been too damaged to show signs of needle pricks.

But still...there was no doubt that was exactly what had happened.

"Why would he want Sam's blood?" Mary wondered aloud, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. "Just for consumption..." She inwardly cringed at the thought of a vampire drinking her child's blood. "...or for something else?"

John shrugged. "Hard to say. Definitely for consumption...but maybe – "

" – maybe for his own blood spells," Dean finished, knowing John's train of thought and exchanging glances with his father.

John nodded.

"Just one more reason to kill him..." Mary announced; her hard tone matching her expression as she glanced at Dean. "Do you have extra machetes?"

Dean resisted the urge to laugh at that question; wondering how many other sons had ever been asked that so seriously by their mom.

"Do you?" Mary pressed. "Because I want that sonuvabitch _dead_."

"He will be," John assured. "Just as soon as Sam can travel, we'll – "

" – we'll make the decision together," Dean interrupted; cutting his eyes at John and silently informing his father that he could not return from the dead and resume his role of drill sergeant.

John arched an eyebrow but nodded; receiving the information and reminding himself that Sam and Dean had changed and would not respond to his orders as they once had...which was a reminder John knew he would have to constantly tell himself in the weeks and months to come.

After all, old habits died hard...

Mary frowned at the sudden tension in the room; her gaze flickering between her husband and oldest son. "Of course we'll make the decision together," she soothed, smiling encouragingly at Dean. "Me and your dad and you and Sam..."

"Sam's gonna need to rest and recover when he gets out here," Dean replied, still staring at John. "I'm not gonna have him drug all over the country...eating crap and barely sleeping while you chase down the Alpha Vamp."

Mary narrowed her eyes both at what Dean said...and what he did not say; knowing she was getting a glimpse of how life must have been for her boys as they had traveled around with John after her death.

Mary swallowed; suddenly wanting to cry. "I'm sorry," she quietly told her oldest.

Dean clenched his jaw; also swallowing against his own emotion as he realized what his mom was apologizing for. "It's fine," he responded; because what else was there to say? That part of their life was over and couldn't be changed now.

There was an awkward beat of silence.

Dean swallowed again and sighed. "Look...I'm not saying that I don't want the Alpha just dead as you do," he told his parents as they continued to sit beside Sam's bed. "Because I do. I want his fucking head for what he did to Sam. But I'm just saying Sam comes first. Not the hunt."

"Of course he does," Mary agreed – because no one could argue that their youngest's condition was still fragile – and then glanced at John.

John nodded.

Dean held his father's gaze – silently emphasizing that he wasn't fucking around about this issue – and then directed his attention back to Sam; shifting as he continued to sit on the mattress beside his brother and giving the kid a quick visual once-over.

All tubes, IV lines, monitor leads, and electrodes were in place; all screens were presenting acceptable vitals; and Sam's face was slowly regaining more color.

Dean nodded his approval but then frowned as he noticed Sam's slightly damp bangs.

Dean sighed and palmed his brother's forehead; reminding himself that the expected warmth of a post-surgery fever was better than the chill of approaching death that he had felt when he had touched Sam's skin back at the Alpha's house.

A fever this slight was manageable and was only further indication that Sam's body was rallying; that his immune system was doing as it should and he was fighting.

Dean smiled fondly, brushing Sam's bangs from his eyes and then feeling his smile fade as he focused on his brother's right arm.

Dean clenched his jaw as he stared at the layers upon layers of white bandages; only the tips of his Sam's fingers peeking out as the kid's right arm rested on a pillow beside him on the mattress.

Dean sighed; reaching to check the security of the bandages and then carefully slipping his own fingers between the gauze and Sam's skin; making sure the bandages weren't too tightly wrapped around his brother's arm.

Nodding his approval – because everything seemed fine – Dean repositioned himself beside Sam and once again rested his hand on his brother's chest; monitoring vitals and resuming his watch.

"He'll be okay," Mary soothed as she watched her oldest; unspeakably touched by how careful and tender Dean was with Sam; how attentive and patient.

Dean quirked a smile at the irony of his mom's words; Mary now comforting him, when just minutes ago he had comforted her. "I know," he agreed.

But that didn't make Sam's condition any easier to deal with – especially when the only reason his brother was so severely hurt was because of him.

Dean swallowed, refusing to allow himself to think about that now.

Because Sam was going to be fine; they just had to wait...

No one spoke; the cadence of the monitors surrounding Sam's bed and the soft voices and footsteps of nurses in the hall being the only sound in the room.

The relative silence stretched; John and Mary watching their sons from where they sat on the opposite side of their youngest's bed...while Dean watched his brother from where he sat right beside the kid on the mattress.

Mary sighed; hating herself for what she was about to ask but unable to resist. "Shouldn't he be awake by now?"

"Jesus, woman..." John groaned and shook his head.

Dean chuckled. "Sometimes it takes him a little while," he told his mom. "Sam's a big kid, but anesthesia knocks him on his ass."

Mary smiled; thinking it was sweet that Dean constantly referred to his gigantic brother as a kid and wondering if Dean even realized he did it.

"And pain meds..." John added; expanding the list of things that put Sam on his ass, having remembered that from when his youngest was indeed a kid.

"And alcohol..." Dean further listed and shook his head at the memory of his brother doing karaoke one time at a roadside bar after only two beers.

Mary smiled again and nodded; storing the information for later and eager for more tidbits; realizing she had so much to learn about her boys. "What else?"

Dean glanced at her, preparing to ask what she meant, when Sam shifted on the bed; the movement so slight it might have been missed.

But Dean sensed it; had watched his brother wake up countless times before and knew the signs...like the way the kid's face was now scrunching in that classic Sammy way.

Dean smiled – because _this_ was what he had been waiting for – and turned away from his parents; John and Mary forgotten as he focused completely on his little brother.

"Sammy..." Dean called; his hand splayed in the center of Sam's chest and rubbing back and forth; encouraging the kid to wake while also keeping his brother grounded. "Sam..."

Sam shifted again; turning his head to seek Dean's voice.

Dean's smile widened. "Sammy..."

"Is he waking up?" Mary asked, standing from her chair and crossing again to the side of Sam's bed.

Dean glanced at her; nonverbally warning his mom to be quiet.

Mary blinked – surprised by the intensity of Dean's expression – but nodded; not saying another word.

John quirked a smile from where he continued to sit in his chair; having witnessed this event numerous times before – Dean keeping vigil while Sam finally woke up – and knowing from those experiences to keep his mouth shut and his ass out of the way.

Because Dean had this – and he did not want any help.

Sam sighed sleepily. "D'n..." he called; his voice hoarse and slurred; his eyes still closed as his nose wrinkled at the irritation of the nasal cannula resting on his cheeks and above his mouth.

Dean grinned; because he would never get tired of his name being the first word out of Sam's mouth whenever the kid woke up. "Yeah, Sammy..." he answered, rubbing his brother's chest. "I'm right here. Open your eyes."

Sam sighed again as if the request was too much trouble to fulfill.

Dean chuckled. "Hey. Sammy. Look at me."

"You're bossy," Sam replied in that loopy way he always did when he was drugged up _and_ coming out of anesthesia.

"And short?" Dean finished, having heard this before.

Sam smiled – the expression sloppy and strangely sweet – and blinked his eyes open.

Dean returned the smile. "Hey-ya, Sammy..."

Sam stared at his brother; his forehead wrinkling as he tried to process what he was seeing now that he was truly looking. "Dean?"

Dean nodded; knowing he had to take this slow. Because Sam was usually disoriented when he first woke up from surgery and Dean didn't know how much his brother remembered about the blood spell...or everything else that had happened.

It was a good bet Sam had some expectation of Dean being there...but the kid sure as hell didn't expect John or Mary.

Dean sighed as his brother continued to stare at him; barely awake...and obviously confused. "Sammy...you with me?"

Sam titled his head on the pillow. "You with _me_?" he repeated, though his question had a different meaning.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I'm with you," he confirmed and waited for Sam's next inevitable question.

Sam blinked but said nothing; continuing to stare blearily at Dean as if he didn't believe what he was seeing.

There was silence.

Sam blinked again. "Dean..."

"Sam..." Mary called, unable to keep quiet any longer; attracting Sam's attention before Dean could answer.

Sam slowly turned his head in the direction of Mary's voice; frowning as his mother hovered above him.

Mary smiled; feeling tears sting her eyes. Because this was her Sammy; this was her baby that she had held and had rocked and had tucked into his crib before everything had ended in fire and pain.

Mary swallowed as Sam blinked at her. "Hi, sweetie..." she said to him; the words choked by emotion.

Sam blinked again and then shook his head; the movement jerky and uncoordinated. "No..." he murmured; his voice quiet even as the monitors began to increase their tempo.

John frowned; concerned by the sudden change. "Sam..."

Sam's attention flickered to his dad as John stood and approached the bed. "No..." he repeated; anxiously shifting beneath the blankets; his movements clumsy from fatigue and medication.

Dean narrowed his eyes at his parents before calling his brother's name. "Sam..."

Sam continued to move on the bed; staring down at his right arm as if he had just realized it was elevated on a pillow and practically immobile due to the amount of bandages wrapped around it.

The realization did nothing to calm him.

Sam swallowed; his eyes wide as his heart hammered in his chest; his breaths shallow despite the extra oxygen supplied by the nasal cannula. "Dean..." he all but whimpered; his voice panicked as he blindly reached for the security of his brother.

Dean scowled at the blaring monitors – especially the skyrocketing cardiac output – and grasped his brother's left hand. "Sam..." he called back; leaning over his brother and angling to put his face in front of Sam's. "It's okay. Don't look at them," he told his brother, glaring again at his parents and then focusing back on Sam. "Look at me. You're okay. And I'll explain. Just calm down first..."

Sam's eyes darted to Dean. "Am..." He blinked; not nearly awake or coherent enough for this shit. "Am I dead?"

Dean arched an eyebrow at the unexpected question. "What? No."

"I _am_ dead," Sam answered as if Dean hadn't spoken. "I'm dead," he repeated; his eyes misting with tears at his perceived failure to bring Dean back. "M'sorry," he told his brother; weakly squeezing Dean's hand in an effort to make him understand just how sorry he was. "I tried, but..." He swallowed. "M'sorry..."

"Sorry for what?" Mary asked; her expression confused yet compassionate as she leaned closer to Sam; not understanding why he was upset but nonetheless wanting to comfort her youngest.

Sam startled as his mom once again came into view; his gaze lingering on Mary before flickering to John.

And Dean instantly knew the problem.

Sam thought he was dead because as far as Sam knew, John and Mary were dead. Yet here they were; crowded around the kid's hospital bed.

And since the last thing Sam probably remembered was slowly bleeding out, the kid undoubtedly thought he had woken up dead...and since Dean was here, Dean was dead as well...and thus Sam had failed to save his brother.

"M'sorry..." Sam said once more, staring at Dean; his eyes brimming with unshed tears; his voice once again slurring as distress, fatigue, and medication attempted to pull him back into the depths of blissful unconsciousness.

Dean smiled and shook his head. "It's okay, Sammy," he soothed; rubbing his brother's chest in a familiar gesture of silent comfort. "You – "

" – Sam..." Mary interrupted, once again startling her youngest.

Dean frowned and instantly cut his eyes at her. "Mom..." he began; his tone sharp. "I love you, and I'm glad you're back. But you are _freaking him out_," he snapped, a little annoyed that Mary couldn't seem to realize that herself. "So _back off..._"

Mary's eyes widened. "But – "

" – Another word and you're out of this room," Dean growled; glaring at his mom and feeling Sam's heart continue to hammer beneath his touch as he rubbed the kid's chest.

Mary blinked; staring speechlessly at her oldest before she did as she was told; knowing Dean was just doing his job and protecting his brother...even from her, if need be.

But the harshness of Dean's words and expression still stung.

John swallowed a smile; knowing that being told a stove was hot was different from actually touching it yourself...which was similar in intensity to actually experiencing the results of pissing Dean off about his little brother and not just hearing about it secondhand.

"Let's sit..." John quietly suggested to his wife and pulled Mary away from the bed; knowing from experience that Dean was not fucking around; that their oldest would waste no time in kicking _both_ of them out of the room if their presence continued to upset Sam.

Mary nodded at John's suggestion; allowing him to lead her away from Sam's bedside. "I'm sorry," she soundlessly mouthed to John and then sat on the edge of her chair while continuing to watch her sons; her hands nervously twisting in her lap.

Dean sighed; trying to soothe his own nerves as he focused again on his brother. "Sammy..." he called, still rubbing the kid's chest; the combination of his touch and his voice already having the desired effect as the monitors began to return to normal.

Sam blinked drowsily; obviously exhausted from trauma and surgery and emotional shock...but fighting to stay awake. "M'sorry..."

"Stop saying that," Dean lightly admonished. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for." He paused, making sure his brother was listening. "The spell worked, Sammy. It _worked_."

Sam frowned, glancing again at his bandaged right arm as if he indeed remembered what had happened. "It...it did?"

Dean nodded; reaching to carefully reposition his brother's bandaged arm on the pillow from where the kid had disturbed it during all his moving around on the bed. "Yeah. It did."

Sam swallowed, digesting that information as he watched Dean tend to him. "So...you're not dead?"

Dean chuckled, satisfied that Sam's arm was properly supported again by the pillow and shifting on the mattress himself as he continued to sit beside his brother. "No, I'm not dead. And neither are you."

Sam titled his head; his hair fanning out across the pillow. "You're real?" he further questioned, seeming to have difficulty wrapping his fatigued, medicated mind around that fact.

Because in their world, seeing wasn't always believing and didn't always make something true.

"I'm real," Dean confirmed, returning his hand to the center of Sam's chest and remembering a similar conversation only a few months ago in an abandoned warehouse; him trying to convince his hallucinating little brother what was real.

But Sam wasn't hallucinating now; was just exhausted and disoriented.

Having your arm ripped open and almost bleeding to death would do that...along with being heavily medicated and unexpectedly confronted by your dead parents.

"Are y'sure you're real?" Sam asked quietly; his blinks becoming longer.

Dean smiled and patted Sam's chest. "Doesn't that feel real?"

Sam blearily glanced down at Dean's hand on his chest and then back at his brother's face. "Yeah," he agreed and then paused. "Stone number one..."

Dean arched an eyebrow, momentarily startled. "Yeah," he agreed; his voice hoarse with emotion as he smiled at his brother; touched that after everything that had happened, Sam would remember him saying that in that warehouse...and would say it back to him now.

Sam smiled as well – the expression sloppy and weak...but genuine – and then blinked, seeming to notice something for the first time.

Sam's smile lingered as he lifted his left hand from Dean's grasp; slowly bringing it to rest in the center of Dean's chest instead; covering the amulet. "You found it?"

Dean nodded; wondering how Sam could always do something so simple that made him want to cry like a girl. "Yeah, Sammy," he quietly replied. "I found it."

"Good," Sam praised; sounding breathless and tired as he swallowed. "S'yours."

Dean chuckled and adjusted the nasal cannula behind Sam's ear. "Damn right it's mine," he agreed heartily; determined to never take the damn thing off ever again; loving it as much as he loved the floppy-haired kid who had originally given it to him carefully wrapped in newspaper all those Christmases ago.

Sam smiled, though the expression looked more like a facial twitch this time. "M'glad you have it back," he told his brother; his left hand slowly falling from Dean's chest and resting on the mattress. "An' m'glad you're not dead."

"I'm glad you're not dead, either," Dean responded and then glared, though the expression had no real heat or anger. "Though I might kick your ass later for the stunt you pulled to bring me back..."

"Had to," Sam defended tiredly. "I needed you," he added, always extremely candid when medicated.

Dean swallowed against the fresh emotion that rose in his throat.

"I didn't wanna be alone," Sam continued; his eyes dipping closed before he blinked them open.

"You're not alone, Sammy," Dean assured; gently patting his brother's chest. "I'm right here."

Sam twitched another smile; holding Dean's gaze before glancing over at their parents; seeming to suddenly remember they were still in the room.

Mary smiled at her youngest but did not speak; her attention flickering to Dean.

Dean chuckled – recognizing his mother's nonverbal request to talk – and nodded his permission.

Mary's smile widened. "Hi, Sam..." she called quietly, hoping her youngest reacted better the second time around.

Sam blinked at her and then looked at John.

John smiled warmly. "Sam..."

Sam swallowed and then glanced back at Dean. "Are they real?" he whispered.

Dean nodded. "Yep," he assured his little brother; always amused when medicated Sam thought whispering meant no one could hear him but Dean. "They're real, Sammy," he further confirmed. "Seems like your little blood spell worked overtime..."

Sam frowned, glancing at his right arm and then back at Dean.

"They were in Purgatory, too," Dean explained, knowing his brother was not in any shape to draw conclusions.

Sam blinked; processing the information. "Ah..." he mused; his eyes closing. "First-line blood relative..."

"Exactly," Dean agreed; a wave of pride washing over him – because even injured, exhausted, and medicated...his little brother was still one smart kid.

Sam swallowed and opened his eyes, glancing back at his parents.

There was a beat of silence; Sam looking at them...John and Mary looking at him...and Dean holding his breath.

"Hey," Sam finally said and quirked a smile; one dimple making a brief appearance.

Mary laughed; her heart flooding with love and joy; touched by how incredibly sweet that one-word greeting was...and how incredibly excited and thankful she was to have a second chance to get to know her boys.

Mary grinned at Sam as he continued to stare at her. "Hey, yourself..."

Sam's smile lingered before turning back to Dean; seeming to realize someone was missing. "Cas?

Dean shook his head; not in the mood to discuss that now and knowing Sam was beyond understanding. "We'll talk about it later."

"'Kay," Sam easily agreed and closed his eyes before blinking them open. "Bobby?"

"Later, Sam," Dean answered, suddenly feeling like he was trying to put a toddler Sammy to bed. "Go to sleep."

"'Kay," Sam sighed, seeming to follow Dean's order; closing his eyes and remaining silent before looking at Dean again. "Who else?"

Dean frowned. "Who else was in Purgatory?"

Sam nodded sleepily.

"Later..." Dean replied; wanting his brother to rest.

Sam blinked and yawned. "Promise?"

Dean smiled. "You are such a girl," he affectionately told his brother even as he resumed rubbing the kid's chest; the gesture just as effective in lulling to sleep as it was in soothing panic. "But yes...I promise. We'll talk about everything later. Now go the fuck to sleep."

Sam smiled drowsily and nodded; because sleep did sound like a good idea. "D'n..."

Dean resisted the urge to sigh loudly. "Yeah, Sammy..."

There was a beat of silence.

"M'glad you're back," Sam finally whispered; his eyes dipping closed. "Was worth it..."

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded – wondering if Sam was actively trying to make him cry – and felt his brother's breaths deepen as the kid drifted back to sleep.

There was another beat of silence as Dean visually checked the IV lines along with the tubes, electrodes, and leads while scanning the monitor screens for baseline readings; resuming his watch over a sleeping – _healing_ – Sam.

"Well, that went well..." John commented dryly, patting his wife on her back.

Mary scowled at her husband's sarcasm as Dean snorted.

"It'll go better the next time he's awake," Dean told his parents quietly. "He's still half out of it right now." He paused. "But Sam's happy you're back."

"I know," Mary agreed and nodded; because she could tell in just that one word and glance they had received from Sam; her youngest just as sweet and expressive as he had always been. "I'm just glad he seems okay overall. When I first saw him in that chair at the Alpha's house..."

Her voice faded, knowing she didn't have to elaborate about her fears; knowing Dean and John had feared the same – that Sam was dead.

"He's fine," Dean assured, keeping his hand on Sam's chest; needing the contact with his brother and always feeling better when he monitored the kid's vitals himself; feeling Sam's heartbeat along with the rise and fall of Sam's chest with each breath the kid took.

There was more silence; Dean continuing to keep vigil while Mary leaned back in her chair; settling in beside John as they watched their sons.

Several minutes passed before John spoke. "You know..." he began thoughtfully, his arm once again around his wife. "We should get the others out."

Dean glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "I was thinking the same."

Mary frowned. "You mean pull them from Purgatory?"

John nodded. "Why not? We know how. We know it works."

"Well, yeah..." Mary agreed hesitantly. "But we would need more Alpha blood."

John quirked a smile. "Weren't you planning to track him down anyway?"

Mary nodded; freshly pissed at what the Alpha Vamp had done to her youngest child...and freshly energized by the prospect of killing him for it. "Hell yes. I want him _dead._"

"So we heard..." John teased and lightly kissed his wife's forehead as she continued to lean against him; loving this feisty, ass-kicking woman named Mary Winchester.

"So, fine..." Mary allowed. "When we kill the Alpha Vamp, we'll have as much of his blood as we'll need. But what about the other parts of the spell? We would need the blood of each person's first-line blood relative."

John shrugged as if the detail was minor. "So we'll find 'em," he replied simply.

Mary arched an eyebrow. "Just like that, huh?"

"Shouldn't be that hard," Dean told his mom from where he continued to perch on the side of Sam's bed. "Sam kicks ass at research," he boasted, glancing at his little brother sleeping beside him on the mattress. "Once he's feeling better, I know he can hunt down the right information along with whatever words activate the spell."

"And then we can hunt down the right people..." John continued.

"And then we can pull the others from Purgatory," Mary finished and nodded, liking the idea more and more. "But what about the object that ties the blood relative to the person in Purgatory? I mean..." She nodded at the amulet resting in the center of Dean's chest. "Sam had that – whatever _that_ is – but..."

"It's an amulet," Dean responded, smiling proudly. "And it's freakin' awesome."

Mary hummed her agreement and returned her son's smile. "I'm assuming there's a story there..."

Dean nodded and glanced again at Sam. "I'll let him tell it."

Mary continued to smile. "I'd like that."

John smiled as well; remembering the Christmas he had returned late from a hunt and had found Dean wearing the ugly gold charm around its black cord; his boys having seemed impossibly closer since that night; something inarguably special and symbolic having happened in John's absence.

John sighed; silently vowing to redeem himself; to be a better father this second time around.

"John..."

John blinked at the sound of Mary's voice.

"Did you hear me?" Mary asked, staring at her husband.

John shook his head. "What?"

Mary sighed. "I said...what are we going to do about finding those objects?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. We'll just find them." He paused, winking at his wife. "Finding a needle in a haystack is what we do, right?"

"Right," Dean agreed before his mother could respond. "Besides, they're our friends," he reminded. "They deserve to be rescued from Purgatory if we know how to free them."

"Exactly," John replied and nodded his approval of this developing plan.

"And there's still plenty of evil shit to take care of here on earth, too," Dean added.

John continued to nod. "Sounds like the family business is alive and kickin'..." he drawled, smiling at his son and winking again at his wife.

Mary rolled her eyes even as she smiled knowingly at her husband; a mechanic from a family of mechanics...now a hunter leading a family of hunters – the family business indeed.

"Saving people..." Mary began, still smiling at John; knowing he would say the other part.

"Hunting things..." John added and glanced at his oldest.

"Sounds like we got work to do," Dean finished and smiled at his parents.

"Damn straight," John agreed; returning Dean's smile and hugging Mary as his wife continued to lean against him from where they both sat beside Sam's bed.

Dean nodded; holding his parents' gaze before glancing again at his sleeping brother; his hand still protectively resting on Sam's chest; feeling incredibly thankful that Sam would recover...that John and Mary were back topside...and that they finally had a chance to carry out the family business together – as a _family_.

* * *

_**FIN**_


End file.
